y 


of  California 
Regional 
Facility 


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m 


e<v-ctit  at 

8ERTRAMD  SMITH 

14O  Pacific  Ave. 

LONG  BEACH, 

CALIFORNIA 


THE  WHOLE  TRUTH 


THE  WHOLE  TRUTH 


A    NOVEL 


BY 

J.    H.    CHADWICK 


He  that  trusts  in  a  lie  shall  perish  in  the  truth." 


CASSELL  &  COMPANY,  LIMITED 
739  &  741  BROADWAY,  New  York 


COPYRIGHT, 

1887, 
By  O.  M.  DUNHAM. 


Pr.w  of  W.  L.  Mmhon  &  Co., 
Rahway,  N  .  J. 


TO 
A.  A.   HAYES,  JR., 

WHO   HAS  ALWAYS  BROUGHT  ME 
GOOD   LUCK. 


2061854 


THE  WHOLE  TRUTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  The  fruit  of  dreamy  hoping,  is  waking — blank  despair." 

IT  was  a  raw  windy  day  in  that  disappoint- 
ing season  known  to  mortals  as  spring. 
Cold,  gray  waves,  flecked  with  foam,  came  sul- 
lenly plashing  against  a  shore  edged  with  half- 
melted  snow.  Some  ferryboats,  their  smoke 
beaten  downward  by  the  driving  rain,  steamed 
across  the  Bay  as  if  in  haste  for  shelter  ;  a 
deeply-loaded  coasting  schooner  came  flying 
toward  the  Narrows  with  an  anxious  look  of 
wishing  herself  in  out  of  the  storm  ;  and  only 
one  strong  boat,  with  a  pilot's  number  on  her 
reefed  mainsail,  beat  in  against  the  wind  with 
a  business-like  air,  as  if  there  were  a  pleasure 
in  the  battle  against  wind,  tide,  storm,  and  fate, 
whichever  won  in  the  end. 

Some  such  ideas  as  these  crossed  the  mind 
of   Jane  Harding,  as  she  stood  at  a  window, 


10  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

watching  the  storm.  She  had  not  been  bold  to 
oppose  and  conquer  in  her  own  life,  but  her 
admiration  for  all  daring  and  heroic  qualities 
was  so  great,  that  she  imagined  herself  to 
possess  them,  and  now  took  some  pleasure  in 
comparing  herself  to  the  brave  pilot-boat,  or, 
better  still,  to  a  stately  steamer,  which  came 
steadily  onward  in  the  teeth  of  the  gale,  with- 
out any  of  the  tacks  and  swerving  by  which  even 
the  pilot  bowed  to  the  powers  of  the  air.  For 
of  all  dreams  of  her  youth,  girlhood,  and  wo- 
manhood, this  was  the  chief — to  yield  to  none, 
to  rule  all  around  her,  conquering  and  reigning 
by  force  of  the  charm,  character,  and  intellec- 
tual powers  which  she  believed  herself  to 
possess  in  fullest  measure,  but  which  she  as 
yet  had  no  opportunity  to  exercise.  In  fact, 
her  life,  instead  of  having  been  shaped  by  any 
will  or  impulse  of  her  own,  had  been  molded 
for  her,  in  a  way  scarcely  corroborating  her 
estimate  of  herself,  and  now  that  freedom  had 
at  last  come  to  her,  she  was  somewhat  at  a  loss 
how  to  use  it. 

The  only  child  of  an  uncongenial  marriage, 
Jane's  youth    had  been  one  of  disappointment 


TffE    WHOLE    TRUTH,  n 

and  bitter  brooding,  even  from  an  age  when 
few  children  suspect  the  existence  of  sorrow. 
Trouble  had  begun  over  her  very  name  ;  her 
father,  a  talented,  weak  man,  who  had  married 
for  money  a  narrow  and  unintellectual  woman 
some  years  his  senior,  finding  his  poetic  sugges- 
tions at  variance  with  the  determined  will 
against  which  both  father  and  child  were  to 
beat  themselves  in  vain.  Mrs.  Harding  had 
promptly  chosen  the  name  of  Jane,  from  no 
special  preference,  but  as  an  expression  of  the 
instinct  of  opposition,  the  abiding  purpose 
never  to  yield. 

She  was  a  woman  who  enforced  compliance 
in  the  most  trifling  things,  by  the  sure  and 
simple  method  of  making  herself  so  unutterably 
disagreeable  that,  for  very  peace  sake,  all  the 
world  gave  way  before  her.  If  she  found  her- 
self in  the  wrong,  as  often  happened,  nothing 
was  easier  than  to  place  herself  in  the  right,  by 
declaring  in  the  next  breath  that  she  "  had 
never  said  any  thing  of  the  kind,^'  thus  cutting 
the  ground  from  under  her  antagonists'  feet, 
and  leaving  them,  breathless,  helpless,  and 
doubtful  of  their  own  opinion.  In  such  an 


12  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

atmosphere  Jane  had  grown,  deprived  of  the  best 
privileges  of  childhood:  the  belief  that  all 
grown  people  were  good,  the  ignorance  of  ill- 
will  and  evil  speech.  Mrs.  Harding's  love  for 
her  only  child  took  the  form  of  an  unreasoning 
jealousy  of  her  husband's  influence  ;  his,  that  of 
a  tender,  minute,  but  somewhat  malicious  solic- 
itude, and  between  the  exactions  of  both,  the 
child  had  soon  learned  to  steer  her  way  with 
the  dextrous  tact  of  the  weak — anxious,  for  her 
own  sake,  to  offend  neither. 

Husband  and  wife  agreed,  for  a  wonder,  in 
wishing  their  clever  child  to  be  highly  educa- 
ted, but,  of  course,  differed  radically  as  to  the 
means  to  that  end.  As  the  holder  of  the  purse, 
Mrs.  Harding  had  the  choice  of  the  govern- 
esses and  masters  who  were  to  direct  Jane's  stud- 
ies, but  her  advantage  ended  here.  She  was  a 
self-absorbed  woman,  busy  over  her  household 
and  business  affairs,  her  own  dress  and  Jane's, 
and  the  thousand-and-one  pre-occupations  of  a 
malade  imagi^aire.  Mr.  Harding  was  an  idle 
man,  having  given  up  at  his  marriage  all  the 
baseless  dream-fabrics  of  his  ambition,  and 
now  his  days  were  free  to  devote  to  his  daugh- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  13 

ter,  establishing  his  influence  over  her  and 
becoming  first  in  her  heart.  As  she  grew,  she 
developed  tastes  and  traits  which  delighted  him, 
as  off-shoots  of  his  own  best  powers,  with  the 
addition  of  a  force  of  character  which  gave  him 
brilliant  hopes  for  her  future  ;  eagerly  he 
encouraged  her  intellectual  progress,  eagerly 
inculcated  an  ambition  akin  to  his  own.  The 
dream  of  a  future  in  which  she  was  to  shine 
and  to  triumph,  an  epitome  of  all  women  who 
had  ruled  men's  hearts  by  divine  right  of  the 
perfection  of  their  womanhood,  was  dwelt  upon, 
without  a  suspicion  of  the  little  leaven  of  his 
own  weakness  which  was  to  deny  and  nullify 
all  their  aspirations. 

Sometimes,  it  is  true,  Mr.  Harding  was  a 
little  doubtful  on  the  point  of  the  physical 
beauty  necessary  to  this  programme,  observ- 
ing Jane's  utter  lack  of  the  rosy,  rounded 
charm  of  childhood — but  he  was  artist  enough 
to  recognize,  in  the  angularity  of  tall  and 
ungainly  girlhood,  promise  of  th,e  stately  and 
nobly  proportioned  woman. 

So  Jane  grew,  between  the  checks,  snubs 
and  relentless  criticism  which  made  up  Mrs. 


14  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

Harding's  idea  of  judicious  training,  and  the 
flattering  fondness  of  her  father;  intellect 
trained  and  matured,  manners  perfected,  heart, 
soul,  principle,  ignored  and  neglected.  And  on 
her  eighteenth  birthday,  with  a  dreadful  sud- 
denness, Mr.  Harding  was  taken  away. 

There  had  been  the  usual  dissensions  in  the 
unhappy  household :  Mr.  Harding  urging  that 
Jane  was  now  qualified  to  appear  in  society 
and  begin  her  career  of  conquest.  Mrs.  Hard- 
ing disliked  society,  thought  Jane  would  lose 
nothing  by  waiting,  in  short,  could  not  bring 
herself  to  yield  to  a  wish  of  her  husband. 
And  one  night,  after  a  discussion  more  acri- 
monious than  usual,  Mr.  Harding  fell  dead  in 
his  dressing-room. 

Jane's  grief  was  terrible,  and  in  its  loneliness, 
Mrs.  Harding's  mild  lamentations  seeming  to 
her  the  tokens  of  an  equal  sorrow,  her  heart 
turned  to  her  mother,  as  it  had  never  done 
before,  uniting  them  for  a  time  by  a  tender 
tie. 

They  went  abroad  ;  traveling  a  great  deal, 
seeking  no  society,  making  no  friends,  isolating 
themselves  from  their  kind,  yet  becoming,  year 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  15 

by  year,  less  and  less  to  each  other  ;  exactions 
on  one  side  and  a  somewhat  ostentatious  sub- 
mission on  the  other,  having  taken  the  place 
of  the  softened  feelings,  which,  in  the  first 
days  of  their  grief,  seemed  to  promise  happiness 
to  both. 

Mrs.  Harding's  health  was  supposed  to  have 
failed,  and  she  had  grown  peevish,  exacting, 
imperious,  unreasonable  and  violent,  by  quick 
gradations  ;  until  one  day,  when  five  years  had 
somewhat  dulled  Jane's  grief,  and  she  felt  the 
d.esire  to  carry  out  long-cherished  plans,  the 
girl,  now  a  woman,  awoke  to  the  knowledge 
that  she  was  the  slave  of  a  nature  which  she 
had  been  used  to  consider  inferior  to  her  own. 
And  chafe  as  she  might,  enslaved  she  remained, 
bound  to  her  mother's  side,  not  by  the  chain 
of  filial  affection,  nor  even  of  duty,  but  because 
she  was  penniless.  Mrs.  Harding  was  liberal 
with  money's  worth,  bestowing  dress,  jewels 
and  luxuries  upon  her  daughter  with  a  lavish 
hand — but  of  actual  money  she  dealt  out 
infinitesimal  sums,  of  which  she  demanded  a 
strict  account. 

And  now  began  a  life  which  was  torture  to 


1 6  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.     " 

such  a  nature  as  Jane's.  Ambitious,  vain, 
craving  society,  gayety,  conquest,  she  was 
doomed  to  a  wandering  existence  in  search  of 
"  quiet,"  and  "  bracing  air "  ;  to  winters  in 
lonely  Swiss  pensions,  in  the  society  of  a  few 
very  poor  old  maids  or  widows,  and  elderly 
poverty-stricken  men  ;  to  summers  in  retired 
sea-side  places  in  Wales,  or  in  the  dignified 
seclusion  of  lodgings  at  some  English  or  Ger- 
man Bath.  In  such  a  life  one  makes  few 
friends,  and  the  advances  made  to  the  widow 
with  her  grave,  discontented  daughter,  were 
avoided  or  repulsed,  until  they  were  practically 
alone  in  the  world.  Jane  wore  an  air  of  out- 
ward submission,  carefully  tutoring  her  coun- 
tenance that  it  might  show  no  traces  of  sullen- 
ness.  Inwardly  she  rebelled  furiously,  cursing 
her  fate,  and  longing,  yearning,  agonizing,  for 
the  life  she  had  worked  to  fit  herself  for,  and 
which,  even  now,  she  would  not  acknowledge  to 
be  out  of  her  reach.  She  read  and  dreamed  her 
days  away,  keeping  up  with  the  world  with  a 
fierce  eagerness,  by  means  of  newspapers,  books 
and  reviews ;  as  if  she  felt  that  an  instant's 
indifference,  the  least  ignorance  of  what  was 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  17 

going  on,  would  be  tantamount  to  the  giving 
up  of  all  hope. 

Rarely,  very  rarely,  she  touched  the  edge  of 
her  goddess's  garment  in  an  accidental  meet- 
ing with  some  man  or  woman  of  the  world, 
who  would  talk  to  her  on  equal  terms,  wonder- 
ing at  the  spirit  and  eagerness  which  awoke  in 
the  eyes  of  this  reserved  girl.  But  usually  she 
lived  silently  with  her  own  bitter  thoughts, 
eating  her  heart  out  with  longings.  Just  to  be 
as  other  girls  were  ;  to  have  a  home  and  friends, 
to  "  come  out,"  to  wear  ball-dresses,  and  dance, 
and  flirt ;  and  then — to  excel,  to  outshine,  to 
exceed,  by  holding  the  power  which  other 
women  won  only  for  a  day. 

But,  alas !  in  these  dreams  her  life  was  wast- 
ing, her  youth  was  going  from  her,  while  the 
future  was  as  far  off  as  ever.  It  was  always 
"next  year";  next  year  Mrs.  Harding  would 
take  her  home  and  introduce  her,  or  would  take 
a  house  in  London  and  have  her  presented. 
And  meantime,  she  was  no  longer  a  girl,  for 
whom  these  things  were  possible — she  was 
twenty-five,  twenty-seven,  twenty-nine  —  she 
was  growing  old.  She  looked  in  the  glass  to 


1 8    .  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

verify  the  terrible  fact,  but  good  hours,  fine  air, 
and  simple  food  had  kept  in  check  the  "  going 
off  "  process.  Her  cheeks  had  a  soft  curve  and 
a  glow  of  health — her  eyes  a  deeper,  if  less 
sparkling,  brightness. 

But  in  her  struggle  she  could  call  no  philoso- 
phy, whether  Christian  or  heathen,  to  her  aid. 
She  endured  doggedly,  feeding  her  hopes  with 
dreams,  as  of  old,  and  for  the  dreams'  sake 
keeping  her  face  serene  and  unlined,  her  voice 
and  manner  true  to  the  standard  she  had  set 
up  for  herself.  But  deeper  training  of  mind 
and  heart  she  had  none ;  she  had  read  widely, 
in  order  to  be  able  to  converse — she  was  culti- 
vated and  well-informed — but  it  was  a  reading 
and  a  culture  which  left  heart  and  soul  starved 
into  stupor  or  silence.  Other  dreams,  of  the 
romantic  sort,  such  as  visit  most  girls,  had 
come  to  her  now  and  then,  adorning  some  very 
commonplace  mortals  with  the  attributes  of 
heroes,  but  she  had  been  so  closely  watched 
and  so  isolated  that  they  were  the  merest 
shadows.  And  deep  under  all,  of  a  firmer  sub- 
stance than  the  rest,  was  an  ideal — of  some  one 
whose  love  should  ennoble  ;  whose  favor  aggran- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  19 

dize ; — which  unfulfilled,  she   purposed  to  in- 
habit her  airy  castles  alone. 

Mrs.  Harding  had  been  dead  a  year,  and  the 
phase  of  softened  feeling  which  had  followed 
her  death,  had  now  given  way  to  Jane's 
habitual  bitterness.  She  had  spent  this  year 
in  outward  quiet ;  tasting  the  pleasure  of  free- 
dom, sipping  at  the  cup  from  which  she  pres- 
ently meant  to  drink  full  and  eager  draughts. 
She  scarcely  knew  yet  what  she  should  do  with 
this  new  life — enjoy  its  liberty  of  action  to  the 
full,  she  supposed  ;  but  always  that  bitter  sense 
of  youth  and  opportunities  lost  came  to  mar 
the  prospect.  She  should  travel,  of  course,  but 
she  had  already  traveled  so  much  that  there 
was  no  exciting  novelty  in  this  idea,  except  the 
pleasurable  thought  of  being  bound  by  no  con- 
siderations of  time  or  economy,  able  to  spend 
and  choose  according  to  her  own  lavish  and 
luxurious  fancy.  But  all  this  was  spoiled  for 
Jane  by  an  uneasy  consciousness  that  she  was 
thirty  years  old,  and  unmarried  !  Just  one  of 
the  indistinguishable  crowd  of  maiden  ladies 
who  roam  about  the  continent,  some  richer, 
some  poorer,  none  with  a  claim  to  distinction 


20  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

of  any  kind.  Jane's  observant  eyes  had  not 
failed  to  note  the  difference  in  the  experiences 
of  a  single  woman  and  one  who  could  write 
herself  down  Mrs.  Anyone.  And  though  her 
heart  had  been  untouched,  it  was  one  of  her 
bitterest  complaints  that  she  had  never  been 
afforded  the  opportunity  of  marrying. 

Jane  had  occupied  herself  in  these  quiet 
days,  very  diligently,  with  the  fortune  her 
mother  had  left  her,  having  soon  intimated  to 
her  lawyer  a  wish  to  "  understand  every  thing." 
Mr.  Sandman,  who  had  never  had  his  own  way 
in  Mrs.  Harding's  lifetime,  but  was  hopeful  of 
it  now,  treated  the  wish  as  a  mere  whim,  cer- 
tain to  wear  itself  out,  until  he  found  that  the 
girl  whom  he  had  considered  docile,  if  some- 
what sulky,  was  a  strong-willed  woman,  who, 
now  that  she  had  at  last  come  into  possession 
of  her  "  own  way  "  as  well  as  her  money,  meant 
to  have  and  enjoy  both  to  the  utmost.  A 
thorough  examination  of  her  affairs,  which  had 
shown  Jane  that  she  was  rich  beyond  her  most 
extravagant  need,  concluded,  she  dismissed  him 
with  gracious  firmness,  and  left  him  in  a  state  of 
delusive  security  for  a  period  of  six  months. 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  21 

At  the  end  of  this  time  she  had  sent  for  him, 
appointing  time  and  place  in  a  way  which  irri- 
tated him  by  its  decision,  and  briefly  informed 
him  that  she  wished  all  her  real  estate  sold — 
all  other  investments,  stocks,  bonds,  and  what 
not,  transferred  ;  the  whole  sum  of  her  fortune 
invested  in  unregistered  U.  S.  bonds,  and  that 
at  once. 

Mr.  Sandman  was  aghast !  He  remonstrated 
feelingly,  he  reasoned,  he  begged  and  im- 
plored ;  she  would  reduce  her  income  one-half 
— it  was  folly,  madness,  crime.  In  vain  ;  his 
frantic  representations  were  met  by  Jane  with 
an  air  of  serene  indifference,  and  served  only  to 
put  him  into  a  state  bordering  upon  distrac- 
tion ;  at  which  moment  Jane  gently  said : 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind,  Mr.  Sandman, 
and  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  em- 
ploy another  lawyer  ;  "  at  which  Mr.  Sandman 
had  subsided. 

The  ensuing  six  months  had  been  spent  in 
carrying  out  Jane's  commands  to  the  letter; 
and  whatever  had  been  the  impulse  which  had 
led  her  to  adopt  this  course,  she  held  to  it  un- 
swervingly, and  on  this  gusty  April  day  she  sat 


22  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

at  her  window  the  possessor  of  an  ample  for- 
tune so  invested  that  she  could  take  it  from  the 
safety  vaults  where  it  now  lay,  and  carry  it  in  a 
hand-bag,  if  it  so  pleased  her,  to  the  ends  of 
the  earth. 


CHAPTER   II. 

"  Where  lies  the  land  to  which  yon  ship  will  go  ?  " 

IRRESOLUTION;  inertia,  an  odd  sort  of 
1  dissatisfied  content,  had  kept  Jane  Hard- 
ing for  the  past  eight  months  in  the  quiet 
boarding-house  whose  windows  overlooked  the 
Bay.  She  was  within  easy  distance  of  the  city, 
yet  almost  within  sound  of  the  sea  and  within 
the  reach  of  its  pungent  salt  breezes.  All 
things  that  move  on  the  surface  of  the  waters 
delighted  her,  and  she  had  them  day  by  day 
under  her  eyes. 

Her  fellow-boarders  had  respected  what  they 
imagined  to  be  the  reticence  of  her  grief,  and 
she  had  been  left  much  alone  in  her  pretty, 
cheerful  rooms,  with  her  books  and  music. 

Altogether  every  thing  had  suited  her  very 
well  until  to-day,  when  restlessness  had  taken 
possession  of  her,  goading  her  to  movement, 
and  reminding  her  with  a  fresh  thrill  of  delight 
that  she  was  free  to  come  and  go  as  she  would. 


24  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

"  I  will  go  abroad,"  she  thought,  looking  at 
an  incoming  steamer  sliding  swiftly  through 
the  gray  water.  "  There  I  need  not  sacrifice 
to  conventionality  any  longer.  I  can  go  to  the 
opera  as  much  as  I  like,  or  even  lighten  my 
mourning.  Ah  !  if  I  were  only  not  plain 
Jane  Harding — what  a  position  I  might  make 
for  myself  now  !  If  only  some  man  had  been 
good  enough  to  bestow  his  name  upon  me  and 
then  conveniently  withdraw  himself — if  I  were 
Mrs.  Harding  instead  of  miss !  Never  mind, 
there  is  much  to  be  got  out  of  life  yet,  though 
not  all  I  want.  I  will  go  and  seek  my  new 
world  in  the  old." 

One  of  Jane's  standing  grievances  here  re- 
curred to  her.  "  Why,"  she  thought,  "  was  I  not 
taken  into  the  world — thrown  with  such  men 
as  could  have  compelled  my  admiration  and 
respect.  Men  of  intellect  and  heart.  But  now 
it  is  too  late :  my  day  for  that  sort  of  thing  has 
gone  by;  I  am  no  longer  young  or  attractive 
enough  to  draw  to  me  such  a  man  as  I  could 
love,  and  indeed  I  fancy  I  have  quite  outgrown 
the  capacity  of  loving.  No  ;  my  life  must  be 
self-sufficing.  On  no  lover's  arm  shall  I  ever 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  25 

lean  or  ever  cross  the  hills  into  that  new 
world." 

All  of  which  plainly  shows  that  Jane  had  not 
yet  learned  the_/?/z  mot  of  a  woman's  heart. 

She  shook  off  with  an  effort  the  depression 
which  was  gaining  upon  her,  and  rising  with  a 
resolute  expression,  rang  her  bell :  which  was 
answered  promptly,  as  the  bells  of  peremptory 
people  usually  are. 

"  My  bonnet  and  cloak,  Annie,"  said  Miss 
Harding,  to  the  neat  maid,  who  received  the 
brief  -orders  with  a  look  of  wonder.  "  And 
send  for  a  carriage.  Then  you  may  begin  to 
pack  my  dresses  carefully.  Put  every  thing  I 
wear  in  two  trunks.  We  sail  for  England 
on  Saturday." 

Annie  was  in  tears  when  she  reappeared  with 
the  heavy  crape  paraphernalia  in  which  Miss 
Harding  was  accustomed  to  enshroud  herself, 
but  she  quickly  reconciled  herself  to  the 
thought  of  traveling  in  the  comfort  and  luxury 
with  which  her  mistress  was  accustomed  to 
surround  herself,  and  she  set  about  her  task 
with  alacrity.  . 

In  these  days  the  preliminaries  of  a  trip  to 


20  THE   WHOLE   TRUTH 

Europe  are  not  very  formidable.  A  brief  visit 
to  her  bankers,  one  equally  brief  to  the  office 
of  a  steamship  company,  and  then  Miss 
Harding  drove  to  Mr.  Sandman's  office, 
where  she  spent  a  longer  time  than  seemed 
needful,  in  announcing  her  sudden  decision* 
in  convincing  Mr.  Sandman  that  there  was 
no-  possibility  of  changing  her  decision, 
and  in  soothing  the  feelings  wounded  by  her 
independence  of  action.  For,  though  Jane 
Harding  cared  little  at  this  time  to  win 
friends  for  herself,  she  had  no  idea  of  making 
unnecessary  enemies.  Mr.  Sandman's  doubts, 
remonstrances  and  expostulations  having  been 
put  aside  with  as  little  shock  to  his  self-esteem 
as  was  compatible  with  entire  disregard  of  his 
advice,  he  at  last  accompanied  Jane  to  a  cer- 
tain Safe  Deposit  Company,  from  whose  vaults 
they  carried  away  various  boxes  of  tin  and 
other  materials.  And  this  final  portion  of  her 
preparations  having  been  attended  to  on  the 
morning  of  the  second  Saturday  in  April, 
Jane  found  herself,  in  the  afternoon,  sailing 
down  the  Bay  on  the  same  steamer  which 
she  had  watched,  five  days  before,  battling 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  27 

her  way  into  port  in  the  teeth    of  wind   and 
tide. 

It  was  a  beautiful  spring  day;  the  land  they 
were  leaving  was  most  fair,  the  ocean,  stretch- 
ing wide  before  them,  sparkled  and  smiled  in 
the  sunshine ;  the  crisp,  rushing  wind  helped 
them  on  their  way,  and  Jane's  heart  leaped 
up  with  exultation  as  they  sunk  the  land  and 
drove  steadily  eastward.  Her  plans  were 
vague — even  now  she  had  no  idea  of  how  she 
should  shape  her  future  life,  but  it  was  a 
beginning  of  action — for  the  first  time  in  her 
life  she  was  doing  as  she  would,  exulting  and 
uncontrolled.  That  night  the  delight  of 
motion  and  freedom,  the  mighty  forward  rush 
of  the  splendid  vessel,  and  her  independence 
sufficed  her.  But  by  the  next  day  she  began, 
as  her  habit  was,  to  observe  the  men  and 
women  around  her,  theorizing,  criticising,  con- 
jecturing about  them.  It  was  an  old-time 
amusement  of  the  days  when  Mrs.  Harding 
had  forbidden  her  making  "promiscuous 
acquaintances,"  and  she  smiled  to  herself  as  she 
remembered  that  now  she  was  free  to  accept 
any  attention  offered  her,  to  make  such  advance 


28  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

as  her  fancy  prompted,  to  those  who  seemed 
congenial.  Even  now,  however,  she  felt  the 
strength  of  the  cultivated  reserve  which  had 
almost  become  second  nature.  She  hesitated, 
reflected,  decided  that  the  moment  had  not 
yet  come  to  break  through  it,  and  Jane's  sea- 
voyage  passed,  as  was  usual  for  her,  in  un- 
broken isolation.  The  captain  paid  her  a  few 
duty  courtesies,  but  when  he  found  that  the 
quiet  dark  girl  in  mourning  did  not  care  for 
games,  declined  introductions,  was  absolutely 
well,  and  amply  provided  with  books,  left  her 
to  herself  with  a  grim  wish  that  all  women  were 
as  easily  pleased  and  as  self-reliant ;  and  Jane 
resumed  her  quiet  reading  of  human  nature  in 
and  out  of  novels. 

A  certain  pretty  and  pleasant-voiced  widow, 
to  whom  all  the  gentlemen  were  very  attentive, 
was  the  chief  disturber  of  Jane's  enjoyment  in 
these  meditations.  She  envied  her  the  unre. 
served  ease  of  her  manners,  the  confidence 
with  which  she  appealed  to  those  about  her. 
It  was  perfectly  natural  and  proper  for  her  to 
be  traveling  alone — she  had  received  the  free- 
dom of  society — "Whereas  I,"  thought  Jane, 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  29 

"am  too  young  to  be  knocking  about  the 
world  alone,  and  too  old  to  take  a  chaperone. 
Oh  dear !  I  do  think  a  widow  is  the  most  envi- 
able of  human  beings  !  "  And  so  returned  to 
her  usual  morbid  musings  on  her  unsatisfactory 
lot  in  life. 

It  was  a  warm,  cloudless  day,  the  sea  rather 
quiet;  Jane,  with  her  book,  was  cozily  ensconced 
in  a  cliaise-longue  somewhat  apart  from  her 
fellow-passengers.  Mrs.  Merriam,  leaning  on 
the  arm  of  a  handsome  Irishman,  one  of  her 
special  squires,  was  doing  a  constitutional  after 
the  fashion  of  ladies  at  sea,  staggering  daintily 
about  in  her  high-heeled  boots,  clutching  at 
her  escort's  arm  in  prettily-feigned  alarm  at 
each  regularly  recurring  lurch  of  the  vessel, 
and  pausing  now  and  then  to  rest  after  these 
exciting  experiences  in  sheltered  corners  where 
she  could  raise  her  soft  eyes  to  her  companion's 
face  without  having  to  screw  them  up  from  the 
sharp  wind.  Mrs.  Merriam  perhaps  did  not 
know  that  Major  Limber  was  one  of  the  latest 
and  luckiest  players  in  the  smoking-room  of  an 
evening,  and  that  his  interminable  games  were 
never  dry  ones  ;  perhaps  she  did  not  care.  At 


30  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

all  events,  his  good  looks,  good  manners,  and 
wish  to  make  himself  agreeable,  had  tempted 
her  to  carry  on  a  pronounced  sea-flirtation 
with  him,  without,  at  the  same  time,  neglect- 
ing any  of  her  other  admirers.  Jane  had  often 
admired  the  dexterity  with  which  the  merry 
widow  handled  her  scratch  team,  mere  com- 
pagnons  de  voyage  as  they  were,  flattering,  coax- 
ing and  gently  persuading  them  into  the  way 
she  willed  them  to  go,  and  yet  keeping  the 
whip-hand  of  one  and  all ;  and  she  -was  now 
speculating  with  some  amusement  on  the  pos- 
sible character  of  the  late  Mr.  Merriam,  and 
whether  for  the  sake  of  being  a  widow,  it  were 
worth  while  to  endure  the  misery  of  losing  a 
man  one  loved,  or  to  have  endured  many  other 
miseries  before  being  delivered  from  the  pres- 
ence of  a  man  one  didn't  love.  While  still 
undecided  upon  this  point,  the  steamer  sud- 
denly bethought  herself  to  plunge  her  bow  deep 
into  a  great  green  wave,  at  the  same  time  kick- 
ing her  frantically-revolving  screw  out  of  water, 
and  producing  a  combination  of  erratic  motions 
which  gave  Mrs.  Merriam  golden  opportuni- 
ties. She  shrieked,  clung  to  Major  Limber, 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  31 

and  stumbling,  sliding,  and  exclaiming,  reached 
a  chair  by  the  side  of  a  gloomy  and  neglected 
admirer  just  as  Jane,  cynically  surveying  the 
scene,  and  forgetting  her  own  equilibrium,  slid, 
chair  and  all,  directly  to  the  widow's  feet, 
where  the  final  heave  of  the  ship  deposited  her 
on  the  deck,  helpless  in  her  mummy-like 
swathings. 

Mrs.  Merriam  was  eagerly  cordial,  full  of 
pretty  words  of  sympathy,  but  too  helpless  to 
do  more  than  stretch  out  a  dainty  white  hand 
and  offer  a  jeweled  vinaigrette.  Major  Limber 
it  was,  who,  with  eager  helpfulness,  lifted  Jane 
to  her  feet,  replaced  her  chair,  and  after  her 
brief  thanks  to  Mrs.  Merriam,  led  her  carefully 
to  it,  and  restored  her  scattered  belongings. 
The  incident  evidently  appeared  to  Major 
Limber  a  good  opportunity,  for  he  lingered  by 
her,  politely  indeed,  but  somewhat  persistently 
— endeavoring  to  start  a  conversation,  with 
such  success  as  might  fall  to  the  lot  of  a 
traveler  in  a  strange  country  of  which  he  did 
not  know  the  language. 

To  have  been  ignominously  tumbled  out  of 
her  chair  upon  the  deck  of  a  steamer  and 


32  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

picked  up  like  a  child  by  the  first  comer,  was 
so  intensely  mortifying  to  a  dignified  woman 
like  Jane,  that  she  was  for  the  moment  almost 
speechless.  Her  deep-set  gray  eyes  burned 
under  their  black  brows,  with  what  appeared 
to  Major  Limber  like  indignation ;  her  replies 
to  his  cheerful  and  discursive  remarks  were 
brief  and  curt.  Even  Major  Limber,  under 
these  circumstances,  could  but  bow  himself 
away,  and  rejoin  the  merry  widow,  unconscious 
of  having  aroused  in  Jane's  heart  the  bitter 
thought  that  she  had  indeed  out-grown  all  the 
powers  of  attraction  of  which  she  had  dreamed 
herself  possessed. 

An  absolutely  opposite  conclusion  forced 
upon  Jane  by  her  next  encounter  with  Major 
Limber,  failed  to  take  the  sting  from  this 
reflection. 

It  was  late  afternoon,  dinner  was  over,  the 
scent  of  the  green  earth  they  were  approaching 
was  in  the  air.  "  To-morrow,"  said  every  one, 
"we  shall  be  in  the  Mersey." 

Jane,  to  whom  it  was  a  twice  and  thrice-told 
tale,  was  yet  eager  and  excited,  and  sent  Annie 
below  for  her  glass  that  she  might  catch  the 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  33 

first  star-like  glimmer  of  Fastnet  light  in  the 
darkening  sky.  Annie  was  timid  of  venturing 
on  the  slanting  deck,  and  stood  in  the  door  of 
the  companionway,  while  Jane,  with  her  easy, 
practiced  step,  came  forward  to  take  what  she 
had  brought.  Major  Limber  stood  a  few  steps 
below,  intently  studying  the  bulletin  of  the 
days'  run.  He  heard  Jane's  gentle  word  of 
thanks,  Annie's  "  Yes,  miss — are  we  nearly  in, 
miss?"  and  turning,  bestowed  on  Jane's  bright 
face,  flushed  by  the  wind  and  animated  by  one 
of  her  rare  smiles,  a  stare  of  unqualified  admira- 
tion which  that  inconsistent  lady  was  pleased 
to  consider  impertinent  to  the  last  degree. 
Illogical  Jane,  who,  four  days  before,  had  felt, 
with  bitter  chagrin,  that  she  was  too  old  to  be 
admired,  now  resented,  with  equal  bitterness, 
the  offered  homage,  and  gave  Major  Limber  a 
withering  glance  which  affected  him  the  less, 
in  that  it  was  by  no  means  the  first  time  in  his 
career  that  he  encountered  it. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  The  gulled  shore  to  a  most  dangerous  sea." 

• 

A  FEW  weeks  in  the  soft,  suave  atmosphere 
of  an  English  spring,  restored  Jane's 
serenity,  replacing  the  haste  and  unrest  which 
the  American  climate  seems  to  foster,  by  an 
easy-going  calmness  and  sense  of  well-being. 
She  had  traveled  by  a  lingering,  round-about 
way  from  Liverpool  to  Ross,  and  down  the 
Wye,  and  so  to  Gloucester,  not  following  any 
ordained  tourist  route,  but  turning  aside,  and 
ranging  hither  and  thither  in  the  pleasant 
spring  days  ;  following  out  old  plans  of  the 
time  when  she  had  not  been  free,  when  she  had 
heard  of  this  and  that  which  she  longed  to  see, 
but  had  been  forced  to  forego  and  content 
herself  with  the  slow  itinerary  which  suited 
Mrs.  Harding's  health  and  economical  ideas. 
Now,  forswearing  guide-books,  driven  by  every 
wind  of  impulse,  by  a  line  in  a  poem  or  an 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  35 

allusion  in  a  novel,  she  passed  the  months  of 
May  and  June  with  a  pleasure  which  made  her 
feel  young  again. 

On  the  moors,  where  the  Bronte  sisters 
lived  and  suffered,  the  first  faint  blush  of  the 
blossoming  heather  told  that  spring  was  come  ; 
in  the  midland  valleys  the  ways  were  white 
with  the  May,  and  in  every  wooded  place  was  a 
fragrant  carpet  spread,  purple  and  golden, 
wherever  violet  and  primrose  could  plant  their 
tiny  seeds.  Jane  explored  many  a  delicious 
nook  in  her  lingering,  leisurely  progress  toward 
London  ;  her  erratic  course  and  long  delays 
protecting  her  from  the  usual  continual  meet- 
ing with  one's  late  fellow-passengers,  which  is 
a  drawback  or  a  pleasure  according  as  one 
regards  it.  To  Jane,  it  would  have  been  an 
unmitigated  bore.  Of  course,  she  met  travel- 
ing compatriots,  as  well  as  wandering  English 
people,  but  no  one  whom  she  had  ever  before 
seen.  Her  ruffled  plumes  had  been  somewhat 
smoothed  by  the  discovery  that  she  was  not 
absolutely  without  attraction  to  the  male  eye  ; 
and  the  thought  that  she  was  still  young  and 
handsome  enough  to  need  a  duenna  was  very 


36  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

pleasant  to  her.  To  overhear  a  haughty  En- 
glish beauty  who  had  favored  her  with  a  pro- 
longed stare,  turn  away  to  say :  "  What  a 
striking  looking  woman  !  "  had  brought  a  glow 
of  delight  to  her  heart  altogether  dispropor- 
tionate to  the  trifling  nature  of  the  remark. 
She  bought  more  gowns  and  prettier  ones,  in 
London,  in  consequence  of  this  speech,  "  wear- 
ing her  rue  with  a  difference "  now  that  she 
began  to  believe  in  possible  notice  and  admira- 
tion, and  very  well  knowing  how  much  good 
looks  gained  from  tasteful  and  appropriate 
dress.  The  fascination  of  shops  is  not  so  irre- 
sistible when  one  is  in  deep  mourning,  and 
London,  in  the  season,  was  not  what  Jane 
cared  for  just  now  ;  so  the  first  of  July  found 
her  at  Alum  Bay,  contentedly  riding  a  hired 
horse  about  the  roads  and  over  the  downs. 
The  wild  seclusion  delighted  her  at  first,  then 
she  tired  of  it  and  moved  to  Cowes,  where  the 
bustle  of  fashionable  life  in  which  she  had  no 
part,  disgusted  her  still  more.  She  crossed  to 
the  mainland,  tried  Hastings,  Eastbourne, 
Brighton  ;  hated  them,  one  and  all,  and  finally, 
having  half  decided  to  go  to  a  French  sea- 


THE    WHOLE   TRUTH.  37 

place  for  the  bathing,  found  herself,  at  the  end 
of  July,  in  Dover,  awaiting  a  favorable  day  to 
cross.  Miss  Harding  was  by  no  means  timid 
of  the  rough  seas  ;  no  prudential  considerations 
as  to  sickness,  or  her  complexion,  delayed  her; 
but  her  rooms  at  the  Lord  Warden  were  com- 
fortable, the  day  was  wet  and  gusty — above 
all,  she  was  free  to  change  her  mind,  and  she 
decided  against  crossing.  The  second  day  was 
perfect,  but  she  was  in  no  hurry,  so  she  went 
for  a  walk,  pleasantly  vacillating  as  to  her 
plans.  She  wanted  a  dog.  Mrs.  Harding  had 
never  allowed  her  to  have  one,  and  England 
was  the  best  place  to  buy  a  dog.  She  thought 
she  should  like  to  own  a  fine  horse,  for  she 
loved  riding,  and  wished  to  choose  a  bathing- 
place  where  the  surrounding  country  should  be 
attractive  ;  and  again,  surely  England  was  the 
best  place  to  buy  a  horse. 

In  this  frame  of  mind,  pacing  along  the 
Marine  Parade,  she  noticed  a  tiny  house  nest- 
ling between  cliff  and  road,  daintily  neat,  its 
windows  brilliant  with  flowers,  and  a  placard 
of  "  lodgings  "  in  blue  on  a  white  ground.  A 
pretty,  fresh-colored  maid  was  feeding  a  bird 


38  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

in  the  bow-window  of  the  parlor  floor.  With 
the  delight  of  a  child  in  acting,  unchecked, 
upon  her  impulses,  Jane  turned  in  at  the  gate, 
rang,  and  asked  to  see  the  rooms.  She  was 
met  by  the  landlady,  a  small,  meek  woman, 
who,  after  a  start  of  recognition  and  surprise, 
became  humbly  apologetic. 

"  Oh  !  is  it  you,  madam  ?  "  she  began  ;  "  but 
no  !  I  beg  your  pardon — I  mistook  you  for  a 
lady  who  visited  a  lodger  of  mine  ;  but  I  see  it 
is  not  the  same." 

Jane  felt  interested  ;  she  graciously  excused, 
and  examined  the  rooms  with  lenient  eyes ; 
they  were  simple,  neat  and  dainty,  the  terms 
were  low,  the  landlady  civil.  Ten  minutes 
later  Jane,  having  engaged  them  for  a  week, 
emerged  from  the  gate  and  went  briskly  back  to 
the  hotel. 

There  she  found  Annie  in  tears  and  full  of 
grievances.  "  Not  another  day  would  she 
spend  in  this  abominable  country.  Why 
had  she  ever  left  America,  where  even 
poor  girls  were  treated  with  respect  and 
no  nasty  officer-men  hanging  about  to  be 
so  forward  ? "  And  so  on,  at  great  length, 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  39 

until  Jane  gathered  from  her  incoherent 
plainings  that  some  one  "  not  worthy  the 
name  of  gentleman  in  any  respect "  must 
have  kissed  her  in  the  corridor ;  and  noth- 
ing her  mistress  could  say  would  avail  to 
appease  her.  Tired  out  at  length,  and  indis- 
posed, through  previous  similar  experiences,  to 
be  very  sympathetic,  Miss  Harding  agreed  with 
her  that  she  had  better  return  home  at  once. 
Annie,  affronted,  demanded  immediate  release, 
and  Jane,  with  irritated  promptness,  had  tele- 
graphed for  a  berth,  and  put  Annie  into  the 
train  with  a  ticket  for  Liverpool  and  three 
months'  extra  wages,  before  she  took  possession 
of  the  new  lodgings  next  day. 

Irritated  by  the  contretemps,  and  annoyed 
at  having  to  move  without  a  maid,  Jane,  hav- 
ing hastily  unpacked  a  few  trifles,  set  forth  to 
try  and  walk  off  her  angry  mood.  Before  long 
the  fresh  air,  the  pleasant  sights  and  sounds  of 
the  merry  little  place  had  driven  away  her  ill- 
humor,  and  returning  radiant  and  rosy  from  a 
brisk  walk  on  the  cliff,  she  turned  her  steps 
to  the  pier,  toward  which  she  saw  the  packet 
coming  swiftly  across  the  glass-green  waves. 


40  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

Human  nature,  standing  secure  on  shore,  can 
not  help  a  malicious  delight  in  seeing  fellow- 
creatures  wearing  the  hues  and  tokens  of  sea- 
sickness, staggering  unsteadily  down  or  up  on 
insecure  gang-planks.  Jane  was  not  the  only 
one  who  watched  the  melancholy  procession 
of  limp  women  and  men  trying  to  look  as  if 
they  had  not  suffered  ;  the  belles  and  beaux  of 
the  place  crowded  the  pier,  pacing  up  and  do\vn 
in  groups  of  three  or  four  after  the  excitement 
of  the  arrival  had  subsided.  Jane  saw  the  last 
passenger  ashore,  and  still  lingered,  not  walk- 
ing, but  watching  the  sailors  and  porters,  busy 
with  the  freight ;  all  action  had  a  charm  for 
her,  even  when  it  was  merely  the  exertion  of 
rough  physical  force.  It  was  almost  twilight 
before  she  tired  of  watching  the  bustle  of  un- 
loading, the  hauling  about  of  big  boxes  and 
bales,  the  huge  horses  which  tramped  to  and  fro 
drawing  heavy  trollies  on  a  miniature  track ; 
the  ship-people  busy  about  a  thousand  and  one 
things  on  the  packet's  deck.  Two  gentlemen, 
the  last  on  the  pier,  walking  slowly,  arm-in-arm, 
looked  intently  at  Miss  Harding  when  she  at 
last  turned  to  go  ;  one  with  admiring  interest, 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  41 

the  other,  whose  face  seemed  familiar,  with  a 
bold  glance  of  approval  and  a  remark  in  un- 
modulated tones : 
"  By  Jove,  what  a  handsome  girl !  " 
Jane,  who  valued  signs  of  admiration  as  tes. 
tifying  that  she  was  not  so  old  after  all,  was 
nevertheless  somewhat  ruffled  by  this  imperti- 
nence, flushing  quite  perceptibly,  in  that  wan- 
ing light  of  a  summer  evening  which  in  En- 
gland is  never  quite  darkness.  But  as  she  walked 
rapidly  homeward  she  forgot  the  annoyance  in 
the  gratification,  and  thought,  with  some  pleas- 
ure, that  she  ought  to  have  a  chaperone. 

"It  will  be  a  bore,"  she  thought.  "I  hate  a 
paid  companion  ;  they  are  both  toadies  and 
treacherous.  It  seems  a  pity,  now,  that  I  had 
not  '  cultivated  '  Mrs.  Merriam — though  I  did 
not  like  her — and  placed  myself  under  her  wing. 
But  I  should  not  be  as  free,  and  I  fancied  I 
looked  old  enough.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to 
find  some  congenial  matron  or  widow — almost 
an  impossibility.  How  I  wish  I  were  a  widow 
myself.  It  must  be  some  one  rich  enough  not 
to  need  me  beyond  a  certain  point,  and  yet 
easy-going  enough  to  yield  to  my  whims.  Oh  ! 


42  THE  WHOLE  TRUTH. 

how  I  shall  hate  it !  I  dare  say  it  was  one  of 
those  very  men  who  made  love  to  Annie.  I 
don't  feel  to  need  protection  from  them,  but  I 
suppose  I  do.  Decidedly — "  here  Jane  glanced 
over  her  shoulder  and  perceived  that  the  taller 
of  her  admirers  was  following  her — "  Decidedly, 
I  must  have  a  duenna,  since  I  am  not  a 
widow  ! " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Oh  !  what  a  goodly  outside  falsehood  hath." 

THE  disagreeable  necessity  of  acquiring 
what  Becky  Sharp  would  have  called  a 
sheep-dog,  forced  itself  upon  Jane's  notice  very 
often  within  the  next  few  days,  and  each  time 
she  shook  it  off  with  a  growing  distaste.  One 
rainy  morning  she  sat  thinking  on  it,  with  a 
sense  of  dismay,  less  and  less  in  love  with  the 
prospect  of  having  a  human  clog  hampering 
her  footsteps,  like  a  hobbled  horse  with  a  short 
chain,  when  her  landlady's  knock  was  heard  at 
the  door.  Now  the  tribe  of  landladies  in  gene- 
ral was  abhorrent  to  Jane,  but  this  was  such  an 
inoffensive  little  woman,  meek,  pleasant-voiced 
and  almost  refined,  that  she  had  permitted  in 
her  an  unusual  degree  of  intimacy.  On  this 
occasion  Mrs.  Steele,  having  received  the  orders 
for  dinner  which  were  the  ostensible  cause 
of  her  visit,  lingered  in  a  manner  which  so  ob- 
viously invited  conversation  that  Jane  laid 


44  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

aside  her  book  and  asked  a  few  indifferent 
questions.  This  was  sufficient.  Mrs.  Steele 
quickly  gratified  Jane's  anxiety  as  to  her  health* 
her  success  in  letting  lodgings,  how  dear  coals 
were,  and  how  difficult  it  was  to  find  reliable 
lodgers,  and  then  plunged  into  the  subject  of 
which  her  mind  was  evidently  full. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  ma'am, — miss,  I  mean,"  she 
began,  "  but  perhaps  you'll  recollec'  me  takin' 
you  for  some  one  I  knew  the  day  you  come 
here  lookin*  for  rooms,  until  I  see  you  better, 
and  see  you  was  a  much  older  lady." 

Mrs.  Steele,  having  thus  wounded  Jane's 
susceptibilities  as  successfully  as  if  she  had 
been  well-informed  as  to  her  sore  points,  paused 
for  some  sign  of  interest. 

"  I  do  remember  something  of  the  sort,"  said 
Jane,  carelessly. 

"  Pore  young  thing !  I  should  wish  it  had 
'ave  been,  for  I  often  wisht  I  knew  what  become 
of  her.  'Twas  a  sad  story." 

"  Pray  tell  it  to  me,  Mrs.  Steele,"  said  Jane, 
reflecting  that  it  was  too  wet  a  day  for  a  walk, 
and  that  she  was  likely  to  have  some  dull  hours. 
"You  must  often  see  strange  things.  Little 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  45 

bits  of  romance,  I  dare  say,  come  under  your 
notice  very  often." 

"You  may  say  so,  ma'am — miss,"  an- 
swered the  gratified  Mrs.  Steele.  "  This  was 
quite  a  year  ago — quite  a  year,  because  I  remem- 
ber, I'd  been  a-havin'  great  trouble  with  the 
chimney-pot  to  this  chimney,  and  the  pore 
young  man  suffered  awful  with  the  smoke.  He 
come  here  between  the  Fourth  and  the  Fifth 
after  Trinity,  and  I  knew  in  a  minute  he  were  in 
trouble  with  his  family ;  as  handsome  and  ele- 
gant a  young  man  as  ever  you  see,  with  such 
beautiful  brown  eyes,  and  long  lashes  like  a 
girl's,  and  the  whitest  hands  !  But  very  ill  when 
he  come,  pale  and  languid  like,  and  with  some- 
thin'  a-preyin'  on  his  mind.  He'd  sit  in  that 
bow,  where  you're  sittin'  now,  ma'am,  hours  to- 
gether, and  doin'  nothing  but  turn  over  some 
letters,  and  sigh.  His  servant,  as  was  as  decent 
a  body,  for  a  man-servant,  as  need  be,  would 
try  and  coax  him  to  go  out,  and  tempt  him  in 
the  eatin'  line,  but  all  was  as  if  'twas  no  use — 
nor  not  meant  to  be.  So  at  last  he  took  to  his 
bed,  and  was  days  there  before  he  would  let 
Phillips — that  was  his  name — go  for  a  doctor. 


46  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

I  heard  him  persuadin'  him.  Mr.  Grandison, 
sez  ee — Grandison  was  his  name,  '  It's  a  dooty 
you  owes,  sir,  to  yourself  and  also  to  others.' 
But  Mr.  Grandison  wouldn't  hear  to  it.  Then 
Phillips,  he  wanted  to  send  for  some  of  the 
fambly,  but  he  wouldn't  listen  to  that  neither. 
'  My  fambly,'  he  says,  '  turned  me  off ;  they 
robbed  me  of  her,  and  now  they  shall  lose  me 
too.'  Well,  not  to  be  too  tiresome,  miss,"  went 
on  Mrs.  Steele,  drawing  a  long  breath,  "  Mr. 
Grandison  got  worse  and  worse.  A  doctor  was 
called  and  at  last  he  says, '  If  Mr.  Grandison  has 
any  friends,'  he  says,  'send  for  them.'  Phillips 
shook  his  head  and  said  he  misdoubted  they 
wouldn't  come,  but  he  wrote,  however ;  and 
surely  no  one  ever  come,  for  Mr.  Phillips  says  to 
me — says  he,  '  I  knowed  they  wouldn't,  Mrs. 
Steele.'  My  heart  ached  for  him,  miss,  and  him 
lyin'  there  so  low  and  so  handsome.  Well,  at 
last,  we  give  up  hope,  Phillips  and  me  ;  he  was 
conscious,  but  so  weak  and  low;  and  one  day  I 
was  sittin"  with  him,  and  Phillips  a-havin'  of  some 
dinner,  the  faithful  creature,  as  had  scarcely  eat 
or  slept,  when  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
door,  and  that  Eliza,  which  is  as  stupid  now 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  47 

as  the  day  she  was  born,  opened  it,  and  before 
I  could  hush  her  over  the  banisters,  the  door 
opened  and  in  walked  a  lady  as  like  you, 
ma'am,  as  if  born  your  sister — only  much 
younger.  She  ran  to  him  and  kneeled  down  by 
the  bed  and  cried  out,  and  he  stretched  his 
poor,  weak  hand  to  her  and  said,  '  My  darling 
— so  you've  come  at  last!'  I  rushed  down  to 
Phillips,  for  I  was  that  frightened,  and  hardly 
knew  whether  an  agitation  would  kill  him. 
Phillips  went  up  the  stairs,  two  at  a  time,  and 
me  after  him,  but  all  was  well.  He  was 
holdin'  'er  'and,  and  she  kissin'  him  on  the 
cheek  and  cryin'  very  soft. 

"  Phillips  shut  the  door,  but  the  lady  didn't 
stay  long,  and  he  put  her  in  a  cab,  and  stayed 
with  his  master  from  that  until  the  end.  For 
he  sank  very  fast  after  that,  though  he  seemed 
peaceful  and  happy,  but  there  was  no  savin' 
him,  and  before  sunrise  he  was  gone. 

"  The  lady  come  again,  next  morning,  alone, 
same  as  before,  and  in  a  hurry,  and  when 
Phillips  told  her  his  master  was  dead,  her  grief 
was  awful.  I  made  sure  they  had  been  mar- 
ried in  secret,  but  when  I  taxed  Phillips  with 


40  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

it,  he  laughed,  and  says — '  No,  'twas  his  own 
sister,  as  had  been  forbid  to  come  and  see  him 
on  account  of  some  bitter  quarrel  in  the  fam- 
ily, and  had  found  him  out  by  chance  as  they 
was  passing  through  Dover.'  And  if  you  can 
believe  me,  ma'am,  though  they  was  in  the 
place,  and  knew  of  the  death  through  her,  not 
one  of  them  came  to  follow  him  to  the  grave, 
which  Phillips  and  I  was  the  only  mourners. 
And  such  little  things  as  he  had,  he  left  by  his 
will  to  Phillips,  his  '  servant  and  only  faithful 
friend,'  as  it  said.  Mr.  Phillips  told  me  a  good 
deal  about  him  after — a  sad  tale  it  was,  them 
high  families  is  so  bitter,  and  the  young  man 
not  to  blame  ;  which  I'm  sure  he  never  was, 
for  he'd  the  face  of  an  angel.  I've  a  picture 
of  him  Mr.  Phillips  gave  me — I'll  show  it  to 
you." 

Mrs.  Steele  left  the  room  ;  Jane,  who  had 
listened  with  increasing  interest  to  the  sad 
little  story,  was  surprised  to  find  tears  in  her 
eyes,  but  had  carefully  wiped  them  away 
before  the  landlady  returned,  carrying  with 
her  two  photographs  in  pretentious  and 
hideous  velvet  frames,  and  a  well-worn  news- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  49 

paper  marked  in  blue  pencil.  Jane  looked  at 
the  pictures  with  strange  eagerness.  What 
were  this  man's  looks  to  her  ?  Yet  she  felt 
curiously  anxious  that  he  should  prove  to  be 
really  a  gentleman — the  landlady's  commen- 
dations not  carrying  much  weight,  as  the  taste 
which  inspired  them  was  probably  incorrect. 
But  the  face  which  looked  at  her  from  the 
photograph  fitted  itself  line  by  line  to  her 
fastidious  ideal.  The  slight  difference  in  the 
pose  of  the  two  pictures  served  to  bring  out 
different  and  characteristic  beauties  :  in  one, 
the  fine  brow  and  thoughtful  eyes  drew  atten- 
tion from  the  mouth  and  chin,  whose  lines, 
sensitive  and  exceedingly  sweet,  were  fully 
revealed  in  the  other.  It  was  the  face  of  a 
man  of  refinement,  gentle  instincts  and  much 
tenderness,  with  that  sort  of  strength  of  char- 
acter which  is  perilously  near  to  obstinacy. 
The  very  boldness  of  the  hand  in  which,  under 
each  picture  was  written  the  name  of  "  E.  St. 
George  Grandison,"  revealed  the  lurking  weak- 
ness of  a  nature  at  once  headlong,  headstrong 
and  loving. 

Jane,  with  whom  Mrs.  Steele,  after  a  few 


50  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

words  of  regretful  praise,  left  the  photographs 
while  she  went  about  her  household  affairs, 
studied  the  face  intently,  fancying  she  read  all 
these  meanings  in  the  depths  of  the  dark  eyes 
and  the  curves  of  the  handsome  mouth. 
"Just  the  man,"  she  thought  to  herself,  "  to 
make  a  rash  marriage,  quarrel  with  his  family, 
and  die  broken-hearted  and  separated  from 
both."  She  took  up  the  paper  and  absently 
read  the  marked  paragraph,  which  announced 
the  death  of  "  Eustace  St.  George  Grandison, 
only  son  of  Everard  Temple  St.  George  Grand- 
ison, of  Danesfort,  Yorkshire,  and  Temple 
Grandison,  Sussex,  Esq.,"  who  had  died  at  21 
Marine  Parade,  Dover,  August  20,  1879,  in  tne 
twenty-seventh  year  of  his  age.  The  mystic 
letters  R.  I.  P.,  which  concluded  the  notice, 
made  her  aware  that  he  or  his  family  had  been 
Catholics.  Further  search,  pursued  in  a  very 
abstracted  manner,  resulted  in  the  discovery  of 
another  paragraph,  not  marked,  alluding  to  the 
recent  death  of  an  estimable  young  gentleman 
of  a  distinguished  family,  under  peculiarly  sad 
circumstances,  and  while  estranged  from  his 
family.  "We  are  permitted  to  state,"  went 


THE    IV HOLE    TRUTH.  51 

on  this  notice,  "  that  in  the  circumstances  of 
this  estrangement,  now  of  some  two  years' 
standing,  nothing  in  the  least  discreditable 
attaches  to  the  late  gentleman  or  his  eminent 
family." 

Rather  a  curious  sort  of  a  quarrel,  thought 
Jane,  in  which  no  blame  attaches  to  either 
side.  She  glanced  over  the  rest  of  the  paper, 
a  mere  local  chronicle,  absently  noting  the 
date  ;  then  folded  it,  yawned,  looked  out  at  the 
wet  walks  and  heavy  sky,  and  deciding  that  the 
day  could  be  no  worse,  and  showed  no  signs 
of  being  better,  she  equipped  herself  for  a 
rainy  walk.  Jane  always  thought  more  readily 
a-foot,  and  whatever  were  her  reflections 
during  this  walk,  she  came  in  fresh,  animated 
and  excited,  announcing  to  Mrs.  Steele,  whom 
she  met  in  the  passage,  her  determination  to 
remain  another  week  in  her  lodgings.  The 
dull  day,  and  the  dreary  wash  of  the  gray  sea 
on  the  beach,  seemed  powerless  to  affect  her 
spirits  ;  she  was  busy,  interested,  even  gay,  all 
the  evening,  pausing  now  and  then  for  a  glance 
at  the  pictures  which  Mrs.  Steele,  touched  and 
pleased  at  her  interest,  had  left  in  her  posses- 


52  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

sion.  The  week  was  a  pleasant  one  to  Mrs. 
Steele,  no  less  than  to  Jane ;  never  had  the 
worthy  little  woman  had  so  kind,  considerate 
and  generous  a  lodger.  Many  a  pleasant  little 
twilight  talk  did  they  have,  in  the  course  of 
which  the  story  of  Mrs.  Steele's  whole  life  was 
unfolded,  in  reply  to  Jane's  sympathetic  ques- 
tions, together  with  a  mass  of  miscellaneous 
information  anent  the  long  procession  of 
lodgers  who  had  preceded  Jane,  among  which 
were  necessarily  some  items  concerning  the 
dead  Mr.  Grandison.  Mrs.  Steele,  won  by  the 
flattery  to  her  powers  of  narration  implied  in 
such  absorbing  interest  in  her  tale,  willingly 
repeated  every  slightest  incident  relating  to 
the  young  man's  short  stay  in  his  last  earthly 
lodging ;  so  that  at  the  end  of  the  week  Jane 
found  herself  in  possession  of  facts  sufficient 
for  the  erection  of  a  very  pretty  and  tolerably 
correct  theory  of  the  poor  fellow's  character 
and  habits.  So  much  did  Jane's  interest  in 
him — whose  intensity  puzzled  Jane  herself  for 
a  time — please  soft-hearted  Mrs.  Steele,  that 
she  at  last  begged  her  lodger  to  accept  one  of 
the  treasured  photographs  of  Mr.  Grandison, 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  53 

as  the  only  adequate  expression  of  her  devo- 
tion. Jane,  when  the  suggestion  was  made, 
was  startled  to  find  herself  blushing  like  a  girl, 
and  accepting  it  with  as  much  agitation  as 
might  have  been  caused,  had  poor  Grandison 
offered  the  gift  in  person.  She  was  very  grave 
and  thoughtful  for  some  hours  after  this ;  her 
usual  brisk  walk  seemed  for  a  time  to  change 
the  current  of  her  thoughts.  But  she  relapsed 
into  gravity  again  in  the  evening,  slept  but 
little  that  night,  awoke  early  next  day — her 
last  day  in  Dover,  and  the  first  morning  hours 
were  spent,  silently,  in  the  bow-window,  her 
eyes  fixed  intently  on  the  sullen-looking  water, 
thinking  so  intently  that  her  face  became 
almost  gray  and  old.  It  was  almost  noon 
when  she  came  out  of  this  reverie.  She  was  to 
leave  by  the  next  day's  boat,  and  had  many 
preparations  to  make.  A  look  of  relief  and 
resolve  came  into  her  face  as  she  put  on  her 
bonnet  with  its  vast  crape  veil,  contemplating 
herself  attentively  in  the  glass. 

"  I  will  do  it,"  she  said  aloud.  "  It  is  a 
harmless  deception,  and  affects  no  one  but 
myself," 


CHAPTER  V. 

"Here  do  I  choose,  and  thrive  I,  as  I  may." 

JANE'S  morning  walk  was  not,  as  usual, 
along  the  chalk  cliffs  and  in  search  of 
pretty  country  nooks,  but  to  the  chief  shop- 
ping-street of  Dover.  Here  she  entered  a  news- 
paper office,  where  she  asked  for  a  number  of 
the  paper  which  must  have  been  previously 
ordered,  for  it  was  promptly  produced.  Thence 
she  found  the  way  to  a  linen-draper's,  where, 
having  invested  in  several  pairs  of  black  gloves, 
she  bought  some  yards  of  a.  special  kind  of 
mourning  ruching,  which  consists  of  a  sort  of 
puff  of  crimped  double  tarletan.  Various 
other  little  arrangements  were  made  for  her 
journey  during  this  walk — a  deck  cabin  taken 
on  the  packet,  and  a  fly  ordered  to  convey 
her  boxes. 

The  rest  of  the  day  was  devoted  to  her  pack- 
ing, which  she  .found  rather  tiresome  without  a 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  55 

maid,  and  at  the  very  last,  just  before  bedtime, 
Jane  sat  down  and  inserted  in  the  front  of  her 
crape  bonnet  a  narrow  strip  of  the  crimped  tar- 
letan,  the  effect  of  which,  when  she  tried  on 
the  bonnet,  she  found  both  becoming  and  satis- 
factory. 

Mrs.  Steele  was  really  sorry  when  the  morrow 
came,  and  the  fly  bore  Jane  and  her  boxes  to 
the  boat,  which  she  presently  saw  dipping  and 
plunging  through  the  short  channel  seas  ;  but 
then  it  was  certain  that  Miss  Harding  had 
never  taken  so  much  trouble  to  be  agreeable  in 
her  life  before,  and  it  would  have  been  hard 
had  she  not  succeeded. 

Jane's  ticket  had  been  bought  for  Paris,  but 
on  leaving  the  boat  at  Calais,  she  passed  from 
the  Custom-House  into  the  street,  and  call- 
ing a  cab,  was  driven  with  her  luggage  to  a 
hotel. 

In  leaving  Dover  and  for  a  great  part  of  the 
crossing,  Jane  had  kept  her  veil  down  closely 
about  her  face  and  over  her  bonnet  ;  but  now, 
upon  alighting  at  the  hotel,  it  was  thrown  back, 
revealing  her  face  and  fair  hair  half  encircled  by 
the  white  puffing,  and  causing  madame  la  pro- 


56  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

prietaire,  looking  out  at  the  small  glazed  win- 
dows of  the  Bureau,  to  say  to  herself  :  "  Bien- 
voila  une  belle  veuve  anglaise,  allons  a  sa  ren, 
centre."  And  sallying  forth  with  bows  and 
smiles,  she  herself  conducted  "  madame,"  with 
a  most  engaging  cordiality,  to  the  apartment 
which  the  latter  bespoke,  expressing  in  remark- 
ably pure  and  fluent  French,  a  wish  to  repose 
after  her  trip. 

Jane's  usual  self-possession  had  not  deserted 
her,  but  there  was  a  repressed  excitement  in 
her  manner  which  outward  events  did  not  seem 
to  justify.  When  she  had  ordered  a  simple 
dinner  and  said  that  she  did  not  wish  her  lug- 
gage brought  up,  as  she  should  stay  but  one 
night,  intending  to  take  an  evening  train  to 
Paris  next  day,  she  was  left  alone,  and  in  the 
course  of  half  an  hour,  this  appearance  of  agita- 
tion had  given  way  to  an  air  of  quiet  resolve. 
And  an  hour  later,  when,  with  her  dinner 
appeared  an  obsequious  waiter,  who  begged  that 
madame  would  favor  them  by  placing  her 
name  on  the  visitors'  book,  it  was  with  no  sign 
of  hesitation  that  Jane  took  the  pen,  dipped 
and  proffered  by  the  courteous  Frenchman, 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  57 

and  wrote,  in  a  bold,  legible  hand  "  Mrs.  E.  St. 
George  Grandison,  London." 

When  the  waiter,  with  more  bows,  accu- 
rately adjusted  to  the  value  of  the  piece  of 
money  placed  upon  the  book  for  his  acceptance, 
had  gone,  she  found  herself  blushing,  cold,  and 
trembling  violently,  as  one  who  had  faced 
some  crisis. 

But  absolute  truth  had  not  been  a  goddess 
much  served  in  the  Harding  household,  and  it 
was  only  a  sense  of  adventure  and  novelty, 
with  some  faint  thought  of  her  temerity,  which 
had  quickened  Jane's  healthy  pulses.  She  sat 
a  moment  thoughtful,  then,  rising,  repeated  to 
herself:  "It  is  merely  a  harmless  deception," 
and  dismissing  all  further  misgivings,  entered 
into  her  new  role  of  widow,  with  zest  and 
enjoyment. 

The  first  occupation  of  her  evening  was  to 
destroy  every  note  and  letter,  few  as  they 
were  ;  every  scrap  of  paper  or  other  memorial 
which  could  in  any  way  connect  her  with  the 
person  once  known  as  Jane  Harding.  This 
done  without  much  trouble,  for  a  few  brief 
business  notes  from  Mr.  Sandman  and  some 


58  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

milliners'  and  jewelers'  documents  made  up 
the  whole  of  her  correspondence,  she  printed, 
in  a  neat  hand,  several  card-board  labels  with 
the  address  "  Mrs.  E.  St.  George  Grandison, 
Hotel  Louis-le-Grand,  2  Rue  Louis-le-Grand, 
Paris,"  choosing  an  hotel  at  which  she  had 
never  staid  nor  visited,  but  which  she  knew  by 
repute  as  quiet  and  comfortable.  These  she 
caused  to  be  affixed  to  her  four  trunks,  hitherto 
distinguished  only  by  three  broad  red  stripes 
after  the  fashion  of  continental  trunks — by  a 
porter  as  obsequious  as  the  waiter  had  been. 
This  done,  she  went  to  bed,  and  slept  the  sleep 
which  perfect  digestion  and  plenty  of  money 
generally  insure,  without  reference  to  more 
sentimental  and  intangible  influences. 

In  all  her  travels  Jane  had  never  spent  many 
hours  in  Calais,  so,  the  next  day  being  fine, 
she  proceeded  to  "  do "  the  few  sights — the 
castle,  the  "  plage,"  and  a  church  or  two,  end- 
ing, in  the  approved  way,  by  a  tour  among  the 
shops. 

Jane's  money  had  not  been  long  enough  at 
her  own  command  for  her  to  be  soon  weary  of 
the  delights  of  spending,  and  it  must  be 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  59 

owned  that  she  gained  less  genuine  enjoyment 
among  the  sights  of  Calais,  than  she  did  in  the 
shops,  where  she  bought  a  vast  number  of 
brushes,  mirrors  and  other  trifles  in  ivory,  all 
of  which  she  ordered  to  be  adorned  with  the 
letters  "  J.  St.  G.  G." 

The  midsummer  weeks  which  Jane  now 
spent,  not  unpleasantly,  in  Paris,  were  de- 
voted to  the  replenishing  of  her  wardrobe 
with  all  the  dainty  imaginings  which  the 
genius  of  a  French  man-milliner  could  de- 
vise to  mitigate  the  severity  of  widow's 
mourning;  to  the  acquirement  of  the  thousand 
and  one  trifles  which  a  woman  never  knows 
she  needs  until  she  sees  them  in  the  shops, 
when  they  are  immediately  realized  to  be  indis- 
pensable ;  and,  finally,  to  engaging  a  maid. 

It  was  hardly  the  time  of  year  to  be  com- 
pletely successful  in  the  latter  quest ;  but  in 
these  days  every  thing  seemed  to  come  at 
Jane's  wish.  A  young  English  bride  had  died 
at  one  of  the  watering-places,  and  her  maid,  an 
experienced  person,  accustomed  to  travel,  and 
highly  recommended,  passing  through  Paris  on 
her  way  home,  fell  under  Madame  Berthon's 


60  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

notice,  who  was  eagerly  aiding  la  charmante 
Madame  Grandison  in  ker  search.  Jane  was  a 
little  shy  of  English  people,  being  not  at  all 
sure  but  that  she  might  encounter  some  one 
who  knew  all  about  the  poor  young  fellow 
whose  names  she  had  appropriated  ;  but  after 
an  interview  with  the  invaluable  Pritchett,  she 
was  so  well  satisfied  with  the  maid's  manner 
and  appearance  that  she  decided  to  write  to 
the  Duchess  of  Saintsbury  (mother  of  the 
poor  little  bride)  for  the  further  information 
which  Pritchett  desired  her  to  have.  The  note, 
almost  the  first  Jane  had  had  occasion  to  write, 
since,  in  Napoleonic  style,  by  the  grace  of  her 
own  good  pleasure,  she  had  become  Mrs. 
Grandison,  was  soon  written.  In  the  others, 
mere  business  communications,  she  had  had  no 
occasion  to  use  her  Christian  name,  but  now, 
having  written  "yours  faithfully,"  she  held  her 
pen  suspended  and  reflected  on  this  question 
of  her  signature.  Jane  Grandison.  She  liked 
the  old-fashioned,  dignified  sound.  She  had  no 
fancy  for  the  romantic  names  which  bless  the 
girls  of  the  present  day ;  in  Gladys,  Gwendo- 
len, or  Juliet,  lay  no  temptation  for  her  to  dis- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  6 1 

card  her  own.  Should  she  also  retain  her  own 
cognomen  as  a  middle  name,  or  would  this 
invite  inquiry  and  lead  to  discovery  ?  She 
wrote  a  signature  in  several  forms :  Jane 
Grandison,  Jane  Harding,  Jane  Harding 
Grandison,  Jane  St.  George  Grandison,  on  a 
stray  bit  of  paper,  without  being  entirely 
satisfied  with  either.  Then,  suddenly  remem- 
bering that  a  Scotch  great-aunt,  long  since 
dead,  for  whom  she  might  have  been  named, 
had  called  the  name  Jane,  while  writing  it 
Jean,  she  felt  that  this  was  a  difference  great 
enough  to  gratify  her  wish  for  an  entire  change 
of  identity,  without  exposing  her  to  the  risks 
and  perils  of  choosing  and  accustoming  her- 
self to  an  altogether  new  appellation.  A 
knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  she  hastily 
•  pushed  the  bit  of  paper  with  the  experimental 
signatures  under  the  blotter  in  the  table- 
drawer,  and  called  "  Entrez,"  while  signing  her 
note  "yours  faithfully,  Jean  St.  George 
Grandison."  The  Duchess  of  Saintsbury's 
reply  was  most  satisfactory.  Pritchett  was 
engaged,  and  entered  upon  her  duties  immedi- 
ately, being  much  pleased  with  her  new  serv- 


62  THE   WHOLE    TRUTH. 

ice — for  Jane  was  a  pleasant-tempered  mis- 
tress— and  not  a  little  edified  by  the  evidences 
of  devotion  to  her  late  husband,  which  Jane 
betrayed,  without  ever  speaking  of  him.  Like 
most  of  her  class,  Pritchett's  idea  of  an 
absorbing  grief  was  one  which  kept  the  memo- 
rials  of  a  loss  constantly  before  one.,  and  her 
mind  could  not  grasp  the  madness  of  sorrow  in 
which  the  young  husband  of  her  late  mistress 
longed  to  rid  himself  of  every  thing  which  could 
remind  him  of  his  lost  darling.  She  was  greatly 
pleased,  for  reasons  of  her  own,  when  Jane 
bought  a  beautiful  gray  thoroughbred  mare 
which  had  been  Lady  Hermione's,  at  the  same 
time  employing  Girth,  an  old  fellow-servant, 
for  a  groom.  But  she  contrasted  her  late 
master's  way  of  mourning  disadvantageously 
with  Jane's,  as  evinced  by  her  constant  use  of , 
a  gentleman's  dressing-case,  with  a  crest  and 
the  letters  "  E.  St.  G.  G."  ;  her  wearing  a  watch 
with  the  same  inscription,  and  the  presence 
on  her  dressing-table  of  a  silver  photograph 
frame,  with  securely  locked  doors  bearing  the 
same  mark  in  raised  gold  letters,  and  contain- 
ing, as  she  once  had  the  opportunity  of  assur- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  63 

ing  herself,  the  portrait  of  a  handsome  man 
who  signed  himself  Eustace  St.  George 
Grandison. 

With  all  her  experience,  Pritchett  was  in- 
capable of  such  a  flight  of  fancy  as  to  dream 
that  the  dressing  case  had  been  bought,  sec- 
ond-hand, at  Dover,  the  watch  in  Paris — both 
marked,  at  a  little  shop  in  the  Rue  Taitbout, 
with  the  initials  and  a  crest  which  was  found 
in  the  "  Landed  Gentry,"  along  with  other 
valuable  information,  opposite  the  name  of 
Everard  Temple  St.  George  Grandison. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  Stay  the  very  riping  of  the  time." 

IT  now  becomes  necessary  to  decide  by 
which  name  the  chief  personage  of  this 
history  shall  be  known  in  the  ensuing  pages. 
The  ci-devant  Jane  Harding,  now  self-styled 
"  Mrs.  E.  St.  George  Grandison  "  is  not  to  be 
denied  the  right,  common  to  every  woman,  of 
doing  precisely  as  she  pleases,  though  she 
thereby  places  her  historian  in  a  strait  betwixt 
truth,  courtesy  and  convenience.  Every  one 
knows,  however,  how  difficult  it  is  to  follow, 
in  history  or  fiction,  the  fortunes  of  any  per- 
sonage, doomed,  either  by  exalted  station  or 
by  considerations  of  expediency  connected 
with  the  majesty  of  the  law,  to  a  more  or  less 
frequent  change  of  name.  Every  conscien- 
tious reader  has  weltered  in  a  slough  of  per- 
plexity, in  the  endeavor  to  recognize  that 
"  Henry,  surnamed  Bolingbroke,  Duke  of 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  65 

Hereford,  son  to  John  of  Gaunt,  afterward 
King  Henry  IV."  or  to  trace  that  fascinating 
person  of  indifferent  morals,  Barry  Lyndon, 
through  a  career  involving  the  use  of  so  many 
aliases.  Few  have  been  the  minds  sufficiently 
perspicacious  to  know,  in  the  Duke  of 
Omnium  of  the  "  Prime  Minister"  the  impetu- 
ous "  Planty  Pall  "  of  "  Can  You  Forgive  Her  " 
and  "  Phineas  Finn,"  or  to  meet  as  an  old  friend 
that  Prince  de-  Moncontour  whom  we  had 
loved  as  the  Vicomte  de  Florae,  in  the  pages 
of  the  "  Newcomes." 

Taking  these  things  into  consideration,  an  en- 
deavor will  be  made  to  reconcile  truth, 
courtesy,  and  convenience,  a  task  not  so  diffi- 
cult in  this  nineteenth,  as  in  previous  cen- 
turies, while  our  language  remained  in  a  less 
flexible  state.  A  compromise  will  be  effected, 
whereby  the  lady  in  question,  being  called 
"  Jean,"  will  be  flattered,  the  reader's  con- 
venience consulted  by  the  actual  identity  of 
name,  and  the  writer's  conscience  soothed  by 
the  same  device  which  does  away  with  the 
hopeless  entanglements  caused  by  speaking  of 
Miss  Harding  or  Mrs.  Grandison,  according  as 


66  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

the  lady  is  encountered  in  public  or  in  private 
life. 

These  preliminaries  disposed  of,  the  events 
of  the  fourteen  months  succeeding  Jean's  brief 
midsummer  visit  to  Paris,  may  be  at  once 
related. 

It  was  not  in  Jean's  nature,  having  once 
decided  upon  a  plan  of  action,  to  spoil  it  by 
precipitancy,  though,  as  has  been  seen,  she 
could  act  promptly  and  decisively  on  occasion. 
Having  learned  the  lesson  of  patience  very 
effectually  in  her  early  life,  she  was  now  pre- 
pared, after  the  one  great  step,  to  let  things  go 
their  own  gait,  ripening  her  purposes  as  nature 
ripens  fruit,  by  imperceptible  degrees.  She 
had  very  well  defined  ideas  of  what  she 
meant  to  do ;  but  first,  she  wished  to  see  her 
way  absolutely  clear  before  her,  to  feel  herself 
so  at  home  in  her  new  role,  that  she  could 
make  no  mistakes  in  it ;  she  had,  therefore, 
determined  to  spend  the  time  in  comparative 
retirement,  until  two  full  years  should  have 
elapsed  from  the  date  of  Mr.  Grandison's 
death.  By  that  time,  she  assumed,  it  would 
be  perfectly  correct  for  her  to  cast  off  her 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  67 

crape,  and  appear  in  that  style  of  dress  known 
as  "  half-mourning,"  which  affords  the  most 
unlimited  opportunities  for  striking  and  be- 
coming toilets. 

Jean  knew  very  well  what  pleasant  ac- 
quaintances, what  valuable  friendships,  are 
to  be  formed  in  that  easy-going  delightful  life 
of  Hotel  and  Pension,  of  Bad  and  Spa,  of  win- 
ter cities  and  summer  "plages."  She  knew 
too,  how  the  best  English  people,  who  at 
home  would  scarcely  open  their  exclusive 
doors  to  the  pleadings  of  the  most  persuasive 
letter  of  introduction,  are,  on  the  Continent, 
singularly  vulnerable  ;  accepting  people,  as  it 
were,  at  their  face  value ;  and  once  the  out- 
works carried,  Jean  knew  that  there  is  no 
friend  so  faithful,  through  thick  and  thin,  as 
an  English  friend.  Then,  too,  she  soon  con- 
firmed what  she  had  believed  before,  that  a 
handsome  wealthy  widow  of  thirty-three  or 
four,  was  sought,  flattered,  courted  and 
caressed,  where  a  single  woman,  unattached, 
of  the  same  circumstances,  would  be  voted 
"  dowdy,"  "  odd  "  or  "  pushing,"  and  quickly 
relegated  to  the  position  of  a  wall-flower. 


68  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

Not  wishing  to  enter  at  once  upon  the  war- 
fare of  society,  Jean  gave  up  her  plans  for  the 
sea-shore,  and  gratified  her  artistic  tastes  and 
an  old  dream,  by  setting  herself,  about  the 
end  of  September,  in  a  tiny  apartment  at  Bar- 
bizon,  near  which  quarters  were  found  for  her 
horse,  and  groom,  and  dog,  a  great  white  deer- 
hound,  which  she  had,  after  all,  bought  in 
Paris. 

Much  as  she  would  have  liked  it,  all  the  pro- 
prieties forbade  her  dining  at  the  table  d'Jiote 
at  Sirons,  among  the  enviable  and  jolly  crew 
of  artists  who  frequented  that  fascinating  hos- 
telry. But  there  was  nothing  to  prevent  her 
visiting  the  inn,  to  inspect  the  salle  with  its 
walls  paneled  with  paintings  of  every  size  and 
style.  In  the  quaint  old  room,  with  its  high 
chimney-piece  across  one  corner,  whereon  are 
laid  the  letters  of  expected  and  expectant 
guests,  men  living  and  dead,  famous  and 
unknown,  have  left  their  sign-manual.  From 
the  wainscot  upward,  the  walls  are  covered  with 
pictures  and  sketches  of  more  or  less  merit  and 
finish,  tacked  on  hap-hazard  and  close  together, 
forming  the  quaintest  paneling;  the  ceiling 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  69 

decorations  are  of  a  different  style,  and  the 
only  admiration  they  evoke  is  bestowed  upon 
the  ingenuity  which  succeeded  in  fixing  them 
there.  Along  the  walls  of  the  outer  hall  are 
adornments  less  permanent, — liable  indeed,  to 
removal  at  the  hands  of  a  white-washer,  in  the 
shape  of  spirited  sketches,  caricatures,  jcux 
d' esprit,  executed  with  pencil,  a  bit  of  burned 
stick,  or  the  ingenious  adaptation  of  a  few  drops 
of  coffee  and  a  crack  in  the  plaster.  All  these 
works  of  art  Jean  pleased  herself  by  examining 
often ;  she  had  soon  been  taken  into  friendship 
by  madame,  and  by  Anastasie,  who,  though 
always  in  a  hurry,  could  stay  her  little  dog- 
trot long  enough  to  communicate  to  Jean  all 
the  gossip  of  the  place.  Ravode,  the  dirty, 
black  Caniche,  who  lay  constantly  at  the 
glazed  door  of  the  salle,  knew  her  step  as  she 
turned  into  the  rough  paved  court ;  he  and  his 
confreres,  no  dirtier  perhaps  than  he,  but, 
being  white,  more  ostentatiously  so,  had  long 
ceased  active  hostilities  toward  the  deer-hound, 
and  only  greeted  Bor  with  hushed,  lazy  growls. 
For  reasons  known  to  herself,  Jean  preferred 
to  gather  her  information  as  to  the  distin- 


70  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

guished  company  there  assembled,  from  hear- 
say, rather  than  from  observation.  She  took  fur- 
tive peeps  now  and  then  at  a  certain  tall  artist 
with  a  crooked  nose,  whose  portrait  madame 
wished  her  to  recognize  in  a  mild  smudge  behind 
the  door;  at  two  young  American  girls,  one  of 
whom  Anastasie  characterized  as  "  gamine,  mais 
bien  gentille,"  the  other  as,  "  une  ange  !  mad- 
ame !  "  at  "  the  inseparables,"  as  two  young 
men — a  tall  and  handsome,  and  a  small,  ugly 
one,  were  called.  But  she  was  careful  to 
encounter  them  only  in  passing,  to  make  as 
yet  no  advances  to  any  one,  and  to  leave  "  la 
veuve  Anglaise,"  with  her  horse  and  her  dog, 
as  yet  a  vague  and  shadowy  personality. 
And  yet,  how  she  envied  them  ! 

October  had  come;  the  off  and  on  people, 
the  French  poseurs  in  astonishing  feathered 
hats,  with  their  tight-laced,  high-heeled  fami- 
lies, all  the  va-et-vient  of  English  and  Ameri- 
can curiosity-seekers  and  artistic  pilgrims,  had 
gone.  Only  a  sort  of  family  party  of  artists, 
of  several  nationalities,  remained;  and  these 
might  be  encountered  perching  upon  ingen- 
iously uncomfortable  stools,  or  more  securely 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  71 

upon  stones,  working  away  diligently  at  some 
choice  point  of  view.  But  it  was  already 
chilly  enough  for  even  these  enthusiastic  young 
men  and  women  to  sacrifice  their  sense  of  the 
picturesque  and  appropriate  for  the  sake  of 
warmth  :  Cardigans,  wristers  and  mufflers 
became  a  sort  of  uniform,  with  red  hands  and 
cold  feet,  which  necessitated  a  good  deal  of 
strong  language  and  stamping  about,  interfer- 
ing materially  with  sketching. 

Now,  too,  the  evenings  closed  in  early ;  the 
merry  artist-folk — passing  in  groups  and  coup- 
les under  Jean's  window — were  lighted  on 
their  way  to  dinner  by  dim,  twinkling  lights 
in  queer  primitive  lanterns,  looted  here  and 
there  in  the  country  round  ;  rickety  brass 
affairs,  mended  with  oiled  paper,  which  might 
have  lighted  Watteau's  ladies  to  their  chairs, 
or  iron  "  lanthorns  "  full  of  holes,  with  a  thin  bit 
of  bone  in  place  of  glass.  Their  gay  voices 
came  up  to  Jean's  ears  as  she  sat  solitary,  and 
emphasized  her  isolation. 

The  two  young  Americans — who  were  osten- 
sibly chaperoned  by  a  heedless  spinster  with 
gray  curls  and  glasses — passed  three  times  a 


72  THE    IV HOLE    TRUTH, 

day,  laughing,  singing,  (whisper  it)  larking, 
along  the  narrow  street,  with  its  echoing  high 
walls.  How  Jean  envied  them  their  youth, 
their  art,  their  freedom  !  But  then,  Jean  was 
morbid,  and  envied  almost  every  one. 

One  night  when  they  had  gone  by  on  their 
way  to  dinner,  in  an  unusually  hilarious  mood, 
Jean  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  follow  ; 
an  errand  to  Sirons  was  readily  invented  ;  she 
flung  on  her  long  cloak,  called  Bor,  and  stepped 
out  into  the  cold  purple  twilight.  A  strange 
impulse  came  over  her  as  she  stood  in  the  long 
street,  with  its  blank  walls  and  closed  doors. 
Instead  of  going  toward  the  inn,  she  turned 
into  a  side  path,  and  in  a  few  minutes  reached 
the  forest.  There  it  was  dark,  only  the  lighter 
trunks  of  the  close-crowding  trees  glimmered 
faintly  on  either  hand  ;  she  went  down  a  grassy 
ride,  where  her  feet  disturbed  the  fallen  leaves 
and  the  wind  caught  and  whirled  them.  Bor, 
flitting  before  her,  was  only  an  uncertain  shape 
in  the  gloom,  and  among  the  trees  over  her 
head  was  uttered  that  soughing  sound  which 
is  the  inland  answer  to  the  voice  of  the  sea.  A 
strange  mood,  made  up  of  regret  and  despair 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  73 

and  longing,  took  possession  of  her.  She 
flung  herself  on  the  ground,  among  the  roots 
of  a  great  tree,  and  broke  into  bitter  sobbing 
without  knowing  why — for  had  she  not  assured 
herself  only  that  day  that  the  way  was  now 
open  before  her  to  attain  all  she  wished.  The 
dog  came  and  licked  her  cheek,  standing  beside 
her  with  inarticulate  coaxing  and  comfort ;  and 
Jean,  with  whom  such  outbursts  were  rare, 
presently  controlled  herself,  and,  rising,  turned 
her  face  resolutely  toward  the  inn.  Dinner 
was  over  by  this  time,  but  the  young  people 
were  lingering  still.  As  Jean  passed  the  open 
door  of  the  salle  a  fresh  pang  of  envy  con- 
tracted her  heart.  The  dusky  room  glowed 
with  firelight ;  some  one  was  kneeling  at  the 
hearth,  tending  the  roasting  apples,  which  hung 
by  strings  from  the  high  chimney-piece  and 
twirled  slowly  before  the  blaze.  Some  one  else 
was  picking  out  a  merry  air  at  the  shabby  piano, 
while  two  or  three  fresh  voices  sang, 

"  Come  lasses  and  lads, 
Get  leave  of  your  dads  ! " 

At  the  table  the  two  young  girls  were  still 
sitting,  the   elder   taking   ostentatious   dainty 


74  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH, 

whiffs  of  a  cigarette;  the  younger,  her  face 
hidden  in  her  hands,  resisting  the  teasing  per- 
suasions of  a  light-haired  young  man  who 
assured  her  they  were  "  all  friends  and  would 
never  tell." 

Ravode's  warning  growl  as  Jean  entered  the 
outer  room,  drew  all  eyes  to  the  door,  and 
there  was  a  little  startled  pause  as  she  flitted 
by  in  her  black  cloak,  with  her  white  face  and 
wild  eyes. 

"  It  is  a  Banshee  !  And  which  of  ye,  now, 
does  she  belong  to  ?  "  she  heard  a  voice  say, 
whose  nationality  there  was  no  mistaking. 

"  It  is  a  warning ! "  added  a  second  voice, 
very  solemnly.  "  Ah  !  young  ladies,  if  your 
mothers  could  see  you  now !  " 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  It  is  not  the  lie  that  passeth  through  the  mind,  but 
the  lie  that  sinketh  in  and  settleth  in  it,  that  doth  the 
hurt." 

BUT  Jean  had  not  come'  to  Barbizon  to 
indulge  in  heroics  under  the  trees  in  the 
rain,  nor  to  play  Banshee  to  a  party  of  young 
heedless  creatures,  whose  merriment  caused 
her  an  envious  pang.  She  had  a  well-defined 
purpose  in  view,  to  which  she  held  with  the 
tenacity  of  her  impulsive,  obstinate  nature, 
approaching  it  indirectly  and  sidelong,  as  it 
were.  In  her  long  wandering  walks  and  idle 
moments  spent  at  Sirons,  she  had  picked  up, 
partly  through  madame's  talk  and  Anastasie's 
hints,  partly  by  a  sort  of  lady-like  eavesdrop- 
ping which  she  thoroughly  justified,  a  good 
deal  of  information  about  different  artists  in 
and  about  Barbizon.  Nor  was  she  altogether 
unconscious  of  having  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  artistic  eye,  as,  either  on  foot,  or  mounted 


7  &  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

on  the  beautiful  gray  mare,  but  always  accom- 
panied by  the  great  white  hound,  she  had 
crossed  their  paths  here  and  there  in  the  forest. 
The  strong  dramatic  instinct  which  kept  her 
continually  posing  to  her  own  consciousness, 
was  gratified  by  every  glance  thus  bestowed 
upon  her,  and  she  felt  a  special  pride  in  the 
success  with  which  she  appeared  serenely  to 
ignore  all  the  admiring  notice  which  afforded 
her  such  pleasure.  It  was  not  as  her  real  self 
that  she  wished  to  be  admired.  The  role  she 
'had  chosen,  the  somewhat  romantic  personality 
of  the  widow,  isolated,  aloof,  but  doubtless 
charming,  was  that  to  which  she  wished  to 
attract  approving  eyes. 

In  her  own  mind,  Jean  had,  by  this  time, 
almost  decided  that  one  of  two  or  three  men 
then  at  Barbizon  should  paint  her  portrait,  but 
the  taste  for  intrigue  had  so  grown  upon  her 
that  she  was  now  almost  incapable  of  proceeding 
in  a  straightforward  manner,  and  waited,  with 
a  spider-like  patience,  for  any  chance  opportu- 
nity to  help  her  formulate  her  decision.  Mean- 
time, she  was  delightedly  aware  of  being  ob- 
served and  commented  on  ;  knew,  with  almost 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  77 

childish  delight,  that  she  was  called  the  "  belle 
veuve  Anglaise,"  and  had  been  no  little  influ- 
enced by  the  knowledge  that  of  the  three 
artists  among  whom  her  choice  lay,  two  had 
expressed  an  enthusiastic  wish  to  paint  her. 
That  the  third  had  made  no  such  desire  evident 
in  words,  was  perhaps  the  strong  silent  argu- 
ment in  his  favor. 

One  day,  having  ridden  far  and  fast,  Jean 
turned  into  one  of  the  broad  grassy  rides  of 
the  forest,  not  far  from  Chailly,  and  allowed 
Loki  to  fall  into  a  walk. 

Bor,  with  his  tongue  hanging  out,  ranged  up 
beside  her,  and  leaning  from  her  saddle  to  tease 
him  with  touches  of  her  whip,  her  thick,  fair 
hair  broke  from  its  fastenings,  streaming  over 
her  shoulders,  and  the  soft  felt-hat  in  which 
she  defied  conventionality,  fell  to  the  ground. 
Laziry  good-tempered,  for  long  hours  of  inter- 
course with  animals  and  with  nature  agreed 
with  the  best  of  her  being,  she  laughed,  slid 
from  her  saddle  without  complaint,  to  pick  it 
up,  and  then,  with  the  rein  over  her  arm,  wan- 
dered idly  along,  looking  for  a  friendly  stone 
from  which  to  remount,  kicking  the  dry  leaves 


78  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

about  to  bring  out  their  pungent  odor,  alto- 
gether contented  and  purposeless.  Thus  saun- 
tering she  turned  a  corner,  and  came  suddenly 
upon  a  young  man,  in  a  sheltered  nook,  so  busily 
sketching  that  the  rustle  of  her  own  and  her 
horse's  feet  did  not  disturb  him.  But  when 
Bor  ran  to  him  and  sniffed  curiously  about  his 
feet,  he  looked  up  from  his  work  in  some  won- 
der at  seeing  the  "  English  widow  "  approach- 
ing in  a  state  so  different  from  her  usual  trim 
elegance.  Jean  recalled  her  dog,  apologizing 
for  his  forwardness. 

"  An  unnecessary  friendliness  for  strangers 
is  one  of  his  worst  faults,"  she  said,  with  a 
smile  which  did  not  forbid  a  reply.  The  young 
man,  who  was,  in  fact,  that  third  one  who  had 
expressed  no  wish  to  paint  her,  looked  at  her 
with  genuine  pleasure,  her  voice  was  so  pleas- 
ant, her  eyes  and  smile  so  cordial,  without 
forwardness,  her  figure,  in  the  long  habit,  so 
graceful  and  stately. 

"  He  is  a  noble  fellow,"  he  said,  patting 
the  dog's  head.  "  I  am  sure  he  has  few  faults." 

Jean  was  in  a  gracious  mood.  She  in- 
quired the  way  to  the  "  Mare  aux  Fees," 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  79 

which  she  knew  as  well  as  any  guide  in  the 
forest.  She  listened  to  suggestions  of  places 
as  romantic  and  more  accessible ;  an  old 
abbaye,  buried  among  the  trees,  and  another 
nook — an  oval  hollow,  full  of  heather,  over- 
looked by  a  miniature  precipice — without 
revealing  her  familiarity  with  all. 

She  courteously  managed  to  look  at  his 
sketch,  commenting  on  it  with  reserve,  but  in 
a  manner  which  proved  her  thorough  under- 
standing. A  long,  desultory  conversation  on 
art  and  kindred  things  ensued,  during  which 
the  dog,  after  various  impatient  coaxing  noises, 
sat  down  and  pushed  his  head  into  her  hand, 
and  Loki,  whom  she  had  left  loose  at  a  little 
distance,  approaching  her  with  the  cat-like 
step  of  the  thoroughbred,  rested  her  head 
remonstratingly  against  Jean's  shoulder.  She 
rose  reluctantly,  having  within  the  last  ten 
minutes  fully  made  up  her  mind  that  this, 
and  no  other,  should  be  the  artist  of  her  por- 
trait. A  second  young  man  had  appeared 
from  the  ride  during  their  talk  ;  a  short,  ugly 
young  man,  with  a  straggling  yellow  beard, 
who  watched  Jean  intently  from  under  the 


8o  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH, 

brim  of  a  somewhat  dilapidated  slouch-hat. 
His  whole  attire,  indeed,  was  shabby,  with 
threads  and  shreds  at  various  seams  and  edges, 
and  he  presented  altogether  a  great  contrast  to 
his  companion,  whose  "  get-up  "  was  in  the 
extreme  of  artistic  dandyism.  To  Jean's  credit 
be  it  recorded,  however,  that  neither  his  dress, 
nor  the  fact  of  his  being  strikingly  handsome, 
had  influenced  her,  but  the  sketch  on  his  easel, 
in  which  she  had  recognized  truth,  power,  and 
an  imagination  well  held  in  hand. 

He  had  risen  and  stood,  hat  in  hand,  before 
Jean,  who,  also  bare-headed,  was  asking  per- 
mission to  visit  his  studio.  The  artist  ex- 
pressed himself  flattered  ;  an  appointment  was 
made  for  next  day,  a  painty  card,  "  Mr.  Ian 
Forbes,"  with  a  hastily  scrawled  address,  was 
transferred  to  Jean's  pocket,  and  with  a  gra- 
cious bow  which  included  the  silent  man  in 
the  slouched-hat,  she  called  her  dog  and  dis- 
appeared on  foot  in  the  long  vista  of  the 
wood,  the  two  white  animals  glimmering 
in  its  shadow  long  after  her  dark  figure  was 
lost  to  sight. 

Whatever  the  silent  man  may  have  thought, 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  81 

he  uttered  no  opinion,  nor  did  he,  as  Forbes 
laughingly  suggested,  "  drop  in  "  at  the  hour 
of  Jean's  call  next  day.  When  Forbes  beat 
up  his  quarters  on  the  succeeding  afternoon  at 
dusk,  he  found  him  still  tongue-tied  and 
thoughtful,  but,  seeing  that  his  normal  state 
was  one  in  which  it  was  hard  for  any  one 
else  to  put  in  a  word  edge-wise,  and  that 
Forbes  now  had  news  to  impart,  he  was,  on 
the  whole,  not  inclined  to  find  fault  with  his 
mood. 

"  I  say,  Kooystra,"  he  began,  slapping  him- 
self violently  upon  the  chest.  "  Wake  up,  and 
look  at  me !  I've  got  an  order,  d'ye  hear  me  ? 
A  portrait." 

"  The  English  widow  ?  "  inquired  Kooystra, 
indifferently. 

"  Mrs.  Grandison — yes,"  assented  Forbes. 
"  She's  fine — fine  !  That  curiously  dark  skin, 
with  such  fair  hair  and  such  deep-set  gray 
eyes, — her  eyes  are  wonderful,  eh?  And  a 
figure  like  a — like  a — " 

"  Caryatid,"  suggested  Kooystra. 

"  Thanks  ;  you  have  a  talent  for  similes.  I 
shall  paint  her,"  went  on  Forbes,  fidgeting 


82  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

with  a  tube  of  cadmium.  "  I  shall  paint  her — I 
haven't  exactly  decided  how." 

"  That  sort  of  woman  generally  decides  for 
you,"  said  Kooystra,  stretching  out  his  feet 
and  yawning. 

"  You  don't  seem  interested,"  said  Forbes, 
with  a  shade  of  offense,  giving  the  tube  an 
unintentionally  hard  squeeze.  "  I'll  go — con- 
found this  thing,  now  I'm  covered  with  paint 
— I'll  go  and  talk  with  some  one  else.  Don't 
you  admire  her?  Don't  you  think  I'm  in 
luck  to  get  such  an  order?  " 

Kooystra  recovered  himself  from  a  yawn 
which  brought  the  tears  to  his  eyes,  and  for 
answer,  pointed  to  a  small  canvas  propped  up  on 
a  chair  by  the  window,  where  the  last  rays  of 
day  combined  with  the  light  of  an  oil  street- 
lamp  dimly  to  reveal  it. 

Forbes  followed  the  pointing  finger  obe- 
diently, and  stood  still,  after  a  brief  exclama- 
tion. 

Paul  Kooystra's  silences  generally  betokened 
a  painting  fit,  and  to-day  he  had  worked  all 
day,  eagerly,  feverishly,  and  Forbes  saw  the 
result;  a  bold,  striking  sketch  of  Jean,  bare- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  83 

headed,  a  thick  lock  of  fair  hair  loosened  and 
streaming,  the  mare's  eager,  startled  head  close 
to  her  shoulder,  and  in  the  eyes,  both  brute 
and  human,  the  same  wild,  fierce,  seeking  look. 

"  Hum  !  "  said  Forbes  ;  "you've  upset  all  my 
ideas  of  her.  It's  a  magnificent  sketch — but — 
but — she's  not  like  that,  you  know." 

Kooystra  laughed. 

"  No,"  he  said  ;  "she  didn't  look  like  it  yes- 
terday. But  it's  in  her — I  saw  it." 

"  Saw  it — you  humbugging,  mystical  German 
— you've  dreamt  yourself  into  a  sort  of  rhap- 
sody," said  Forbes.  "  You've  made  a  hand- 
some, conventional  woman  look  like  a  perfect 
Valkyr." 

"  That's  it— that's  it ! "  cried'  Kooystra, 
eagerly,  passing  at  once  from  his  silent  mood 
to  one  of  exceeding  loquacity.  "Just  stop 
and  reflect,  my  friend,  that  I  am  no  more  of  a 
German  than  you — born  in  America  of  Scotch 
and  English  parents — are  an  Irishman,  though  I 
grant  you  all  the  salient  characteristics  of  one. 
Why,  you  wrong-headed,  impulsive,  susceptible, 
belligerent,  pseudo-Celt,  I'm  a  Hollander,  born 
and  bred.  And  furthermore,  it  is  you,  and  not 


84  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

I,  who  have  an  order  for  a  picture.  And  yet, 
I  only  have  looked  beneath  the  surface.  I 
alone  understand  this  woman." 

"  Bah  !"  said  Forbes;  "you  modern  Flying 
Dutchman  ;  you  don't  pretend  that  you  saw  all 
that  in  the  little  while  she  was  talking  to  me 
yesterday  ?  " 

"  By  no  means !  "  said  Kooystra,  with  a  grin. 
"  I  only  saw  fine  capabilities  of  tragic  expres- 
sion in  a  singularly  striking  face.  I  thought 
what  a  Briinhilde  she  would  make,  and  I  drew 
her  as  I  fancied  she  could  look.  I'm  glad  you 
saw  what  I  meant.  Come  along  and  get  some 
dinner,  I'm  confoundedly  hungry." 

Forbes,  in  turn,  was  thoughtful  for  awhile  as 
they  passed  through  the  single  -street  toward 
Sirons;  but  the  atmosphere  of  the  salle,  the 
light,  and  warmth,  and  congenial  company, 
quickly  ended  this.  The  two  pretty  girls  made 
place  for  him  between  them  at  the  fire,  where 
the  vin  ordinaire  was  warming  inside  the  fender. 
Kooystra  made  a  mock  speech  announcing  his 
good-fortune,  and,  as  Forbes  was  a  favorite,  he 
was  congratulated,  petted  and  made  much  of, 
in  a  way  to  turn  the  steadiest  head. 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  85 

"  What  a  splendid  subject !  "  said  one,  for  all 
knew  '  la  belle  Anglaise  '  by  sight.  "  She's  a 
stately  woman,  splendidly  made." 

"Isn't  she?  isn't  she?"  cried  Forbes,  ex- 
cited, delighted,  a  little  tete-monte,  and  no 
wonder.  "  Really,  a  perfect  woman,  nobly 
planned,  physically  speaking.  She  ought  to 
be  painted  as  some  Northern  goddess,  Wotan's 
wife  or  an  ^Esir." 

"  So,  your  test  of  beauty  is  pounds  avoirdu- 
pois? "  said  Kooystra,  mockingly.  "  Like  the 
Italians,  who  say  '  Com'  e  grassa — com'  e  bella' 
when  they  see  a  fat  woman.  You  humbug, 
that  Scandinavian  goddess  is  my  idea." 

"  Kooystra's  ideas  are  so  much  like  Gratiano's 
reasons,"  said  Forbes ;  "  he  has  to  claim  what- 
ever resembles  them  in  other  people's." 

Kooystra  flushed  slightly. 

"  We'll  excuse  you,  to-night,"  he  said,  rising 
and  going  toward  the  piano,  "  because  you're 
naturally  excited  over  your  first  order." 

He  thumped  out  a  few  dissonant  chords, 
then  burst  out  in  a  big  baritone  voice,  with  the 
chorus  known  as  the  Tannhaiiser  March,  "  Hail ! 
Happy  Pair," 


86  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

With  much  laughter  the  others  took  up  the 
strain,  and  thereafter,  dinner  proceeded  musi- 
cally, Verdi's  flowing  phrases  adapting  them- 
selves to  a  demand  for  more  wine,  Marguerite 
woefully  imploring  the  salt,  or  Lohengrin  offer- 
ing the  bread. 

During  dessert,  Forbes  was  observed  to  have  a 
good  deal  to  say  to  the  elder  of  the  two  girl- 
painters,  and,  as  a  result,  Kooystra  found  him- 
self called  into  consultation  with  Miss  Ran- 
dolph, detained  beyond  his  wont,  and  finally 
walking  home  with  the  two  girls  and  their 
chaperone,  in  animated  discussion  of  plans  for 
an  excursion  to  Larchon,  projected  long  before. 

What  time  Forbes,  escaping  unobserved,  was 
running  toward  Koostra's  rooms,  from  which  he 
presently  emerged,  half  hidden  behind  a  clumsy 
canvas,  as  stealthily  as  any  object  30x50  would 
allow,  to  his  own  studio  ;  trusting  to  Kooystra's 
well-known  laziness  and  unmethodical  habits, 
not  to  miss  his  picture  before  noon  next  day. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

"  To  some  kind  of  men,  their  graces  serve  them  but  as 
enemies." 

THE  following  morning,  Jean,  accompanied 
as  before  by  the  sedate  Pritchett,  called 
again  at  Forbes'  rough-and-ready  studio  for 
further  consideration  of  what  was  feasible  in 
regard  to  the  sittings  fcfr  her  portrait.  As  she 
had  expected,  the  young  artist's  arrangements 
were  made  for  a  winter  in  Paris,  which  was  just 
what  she  wanted,  though  she  preferred  to  make 
it  appear  a  matter  of  indifference. 

"  Having  no  ties,"  she  said,  with  a  pensive 
smile,  "  I  make  no  plans.  I  can  be  as  quiet 
in  Paris  as  elsewhere,  and  there  are  certain 
aspects  of  life  there  which  have  much  charm 
for  me." 

Still,  there  was  a  hesitation  in  Forbes' 
manner  quite  different  from  the  frank  cordiality 
of  the  day  before,  and  Jean,  noticing  it,  feared 
she  had  been  too  abrupt. 


88  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

"  Pray  be  frank  with  me,  Mr.  Forbes,"  she 
said.  "  I  am  afraid  my  tone  may  have  been 
too  business-like,  in  asking  what,  I  assure  you, 
I  consider  a  great  favor,  and  if  so,  I  beg  you  to 
pardon  me.  Is  there  any  thing" — she  hesitated. 
"  Would  you  like  to  reconsider  the — value — you 
have  placed  upon  your  work  ?  I  thought  it 
far  too  modest." 

Forbes  flushed  and  stammered, 

"No.  Oh  !  no!  "  he  cried.  "  Do  not  imagine 
any  such  thing!  You  must  think  me  insa- 
tiable !  To  have  the  very  sitter  I  should  have 
chosen  from  among  a  thousand  come  to  me, 
and  ask  to  be  painted  at  my  own  price  !  What 
more  could  I  ask  ?  Only — " 

"Ah!  "said  Jean.  "I  knew  there  was  an 
1  only  ' ;  now  tell  it  to  me,  candidly." 

"  I  will,"  answered  Forbes.  "  I  want  you  to 
look  at  this,"  and  he  led  her  to  Kooystra's 
sketch,  which  he  had  placed  carefully  in  the 
best  light. 

Jean  looked,  and  stood  silent.  Her  eyes  dila- 
ted, and  her  face  unconsciously  assumed  the 
expression  of  the  sketch.  A  sudden  sense 
that  she  had  something  to  conceal,  came  over 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  89 

her,  the  first  time  she  had  known  such  a  feeling, 
and  for  a  moment  she  was  bewildered. 

"  Can  any  one  have  seen  me  that  night  in 
the  wood?  "she  thought  anxiously;  "  or  did  I 
look  like  that  as  I  passed  the  door  of  the 
salle  ?  " 

Forbes,  a  little  nervous  himself,  did  not 
notice  her  agitation,  which  she  presently  con- 
trolled and  concealed. 

"  This  sketch,"  he  began,  hesitatingly,  "  is 
by  a  friend  of  mine — young  Kooystra,  whom 
you  perhaps  saw  the  day  I  met  you — near 
Chailly.  You — who  know  so  well  about  art — 
you  must  appreciate  it — you  must  under- 
stand that  I — that  he — in  short — he  has  so  much 
more  talent — is  so  much  more  worthy  to  paint 
your  portrait  than  I." 

"  Why,"  said  Jean,  much  relieved,  "  this 
is  the  very  Quixotism  of  friendship,  Mr.  Forbes. 
I  admire  it — I  assure  you."  She  paused  and 
thought  intently  for  a  moment.  "  Now,"  she 
resumed,  "pray  do  not  be  offended  with  me 
if  I  still  insist  upon  your  painting  my  portrait. 
I  mean  no  disparagement  to  your  friend,  for  I 
see  his  sketch  is  very  fine — finer,  I  am  sure," 


90  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

with  a  teasing  smile,  "than  any  thing  you 
can  do." 

They  both  laughed,  and  their  embarrassment 
vanished. 

"  Though  I  scarcely  recognize  myself  in  it," 
Jean  went  on,  "  I  admire  it  exceedingly,  and 
I  wish,  if  he  will  allow  me,  to  give  him  a  com- 
mission also.  But  you  must  forgive  me  if  I 
still  hold  you  to  our  bargain  and  insist  upon 
being  painted  by  a  compatriot." 

"  A  compatriot !  "  said  Forbes,  surprised.  "  I 
thought  you  were — " 

"  English — yes,  most  people  do,"  answered 
Jean.  "  My — Mr.  Grandison  was  an  English- 
man, but  I  am  American." 

Forbes  could  not  but  yield  to  a  wish  so 
flattering,  and  his  scruples  were  lessened  by 
the  promptness  with  which  Jean  followed  up 
her  proposition  to  give  Kooystra  a  commis- 
sion. 

"  I  shall  go  to  his  studio  at  once,"  she  said, 
"  if  you  will  direct  me." 

"  He  is  an  odd  sort  of  fellow,"  said  Forbes, 
hesitating  as  he  remembered  the  many  uncer- 
tainties of  Kooystra's  disposition.  "  Perhaps 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  91 

I  might  speak  to  him  first,  or  had  better  go 
with  you." 

"  No  !  "  said  Jean,  with  decision.  "  I  prefer  to 
confront  his  eccentricity  alone  and  without 
warning.  Trust  me,  Mr.  Forbes — I  shall  make 
no  more  mistakes." 

Jean's  just  confidence  in  her  powers  of  per- 
suasion carried  her  swiftly  toward  Kooystra's 
lodgings.  Pritchett  was  dismissed  as  she 
passed  her  own  door,  and  before  Forbes  could 
have  recovered  from  the  perturbation  caused  by 
her  visit,  Kooystra,  who,  with  a  gloomy  brow, 
sat  contemplating  a  blank  canvas,- was  surprised 
by  her  entrance  :  calm,  gracious,  yet  distant. 

"  Mr.  Forbes,  who  is  about  to  paint  my  pic- 
ture, gave  me  your  address,  Mr.  Kooystra," 
she  began,  conscious  that  he  must  first  of  all 
understand  that  no  defection  from  his  friend 
was  hinted  at. 

Kooystra,  on  his  part,  welcomed  her  unde- 
monstratively  ;  he  was  courteous,  but  reserved  ; 
he  made  no  apologies  for  the  few  slight 
sketches  which  he  showed  her ;  and  his  eyes, 
which  were  Chinese  in  shape  and  palest  blue 
in  color,  regarded  her  with  a  keen  and  consid- 


92  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

ering  scrutiny  which  would  have  been  offen- 
sive in  any  one  but  an  artist,  whose  privilege 
it  is  to  stare. 

Jean  gave  a  well-measured  amount  of  con- 
sideration to  the  sketches,  but  it  was  evident 
that  they  went  for  nothing  in  her  decision ; 
her  purpose  had  been  already  formed. 

"  Mr.  Forbes  encourages  me  to  hope,  Mr. 
Kooystra,"  she  said,  "  that  you  will  be  able  to 
find  time  to  paint  something  for  me." 

"  Mr.  Forbes  is  my  very  kind  friend,"  said 
Kooystra,  gravely,  but  with  much  inward 
mirth  at  the  idea  of  his  being  pressed  for  time. 

"  Can,  and  will  you,  then,  undertake  some- 
thing for  me  ?  "  went  on  Jean,  in  a  matter-of- 
course  tone.  "  My  portrait,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  I  thought  Forbes  was  to  paint  your  por- 
trait ?  "  said  Kooystra,  abruptly,  and  instantly 
on  the  defensive. 

"  Indeed,  he  is,"  answered  Jean.  "  We  have 
just  laid  our  plans  for  the  winter.  But  the 
picture  you  would  paint  of  me  would  be 
totally  different  from  his." 

"  It  certainly  would,"  said  Kooystra,  per- 
mitting himself  a  smile,  to  which  Jean  was  too 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  93 

wise  to  respond.  "  I  see  he  has  been  talking 
to  you  of  me.  Forbes  is  a  good  fellow,  but 
rather  headlong." 

"  Pray  let  me  have  the  credit  of  the  first 
idea,"  said  Jean,  with  a  slight  blush  and  a  look 
sufficiently  pleading,  but  not  too  insistent. 
"  I  had  intended  this  before  I  spoke  to  Mr. 
Forbes." 

"  I    can  not  see   why,"    persisted  Kooystra. 

"  If  I  have  a  fancy  to  see  myself  in  many  dif- 
ferent aspects,  may  I  not  gratify  it  ?  " 

Then,  as  Kooystra  still  looked  obstinate: 

"  I  am  a  rich  woman,  Mr.  Kooystra,"  she 
went  on,  with  a  sad  smile  and  a  wistful  tone  in 
her  voice  which  robbed  the  speech  of  any 
suspicion  of  bad  taste.  "I  have  no  interests, 
and  no  ties ;  and  I  am  somewhat  vain.  May  I 
not  have  two  pictures  of  myself,  if  I  like — and 
it  amuses  me  to  sit  for  them." 

The  frank  confession  of  vanity  had  nearly 
carried  the  day  with  Kooystra,  but  his  mood 
was  perverse. 

"  I  don't  dispute  your  right,  madame,"  he 
said.  "  I  only  criticise  your  choice.  "  I  can 
not  make  up  my  mind  to  enter  into  competi- 


94  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

tion  with  my  friend.  Inevitable  jealousy 
would  arise  as  to  your  preference." 

Jean  saw  hope  in  this  approach  to  a  pleas- 
antry. She  had  persevered  where  many 
women  would  have  been  rebuffed,  and  she 
now  stood  silent,  looking  civilly  persistent, 
while  Kooystra  looked  as  civilly  obstinate. 

"This  is  not  very  flattering,  Mr.  Kooystra," 
said  Jean,  at  last.  "  Your  sketch  was  far  more 
so." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Kooystra,  "  that,  then,  is  where 
the  sketch  went." 

"  I  must  appeal  to  Mr.  Forbes  to  help  me 
persuade  you,"  went  on  Jean,  with  petulant 
disappointment.  "Really,  I  have  never  en- 
countered any  one  so  immovable." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Kooystra,  his  face  relaxing 
at  last  into  a  smile.  "  I  am  conscious  of 
appearing  very  rude.  I  must  now  try  and 
convince  you  that  I  do  not  wish  to  offend." 

All  that  was  repellent  vanished,  and  was 
replaced  by  a  geniality  and  winning  charm  of 
manner  which  caused  his  personal  disadvan- 
tages to  be  wholly  overlooked. 

Jean,   unlike    most    of    her    sex,    was    wise 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  95 

enough  to  drop  the  subject;  she  responded 
quickly  to  the  change.  Their  voices  took  the 
tone  of  old  friends  talking  of  what  most 
charmed  them  ;  their  eyes  were  lit  up  with 
animation  and  interest.  Jean  now  passed  a 
delightful  half-hour,  at  the  end  of  which  she 
parted  cordially  from  Kooystra,  without  hav- 
ing advanced  by  one  hair's-breadth  toward  her 
purpose. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  Whose  fancy  fuses  old  and  new, 
And  flashes  into  false  and  true, 
And  mingles  all,  without  a  plan." 

IN  the  course  of  the  following  week,  how- 
ever, something,  or  nothing,  having  influ- 
enced the  whimsical  young  fellow,  Kooystra, 
rather  in  spite  of  the  persuasions  which  were 
apt  to  fix  him  in  his  opposition,  consented  to 
paint  a  picture  of  Jean — on  his  own  conditions. 
Which  meant,  being  interpreted,  that  he 
should  be  allowed  to  choose  his  own  time  and 
style,  that  no  one  was  to  criticise  or  advise,  or 
even  to  see  the  picture,  which,  when  finished, 
was  to  be  absolutely  his  own  property,  to 
exhibit  or  not  to  exhibit,  to  sell  or  retain,  as 
he  chose.  All  these  extraordinary  stipulations 
were  insisted  upon  in  the  perverse,  yet  win- 
ning, manner,  which  carried  off  such  exactions- 
as  would  have  been  scarcely  permissible  in  a 
prince  of  art. 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  97 

"  Really,  Kooystra,"  said  Forbes,  after  the 
twentieth  discussion  on  the  subject,  "  you 
are  incomprehensible." 

"  That's  a  damaging  admission,"  said  Kooys- 
tra, with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  bowl  of  the 
pipe  he  held  in  his  mouth,  and  was  trying  to 
light.  "/  would  never  acknowledge  that  I 
found  any  one  incomprehensible." 

"  Well — but — "  persisted  Forbes,  going  over 
his  arguments  for  the  hundredth  time.  "  Here 
is  a  handsome,  attractive  woman,  asks  you  in 
the  most  flattering  manner — " 

"  Come,  Forbes,"  broke  in  Paul,  "  I've  heard 
all  this  dozens  of  times  before.  You  and  Mrs. 
Grandison  have  gained  your  point." 

"  No — we  have  not,"  interjected  Forbes. 

"Well,  as  much  as  you  ever  will  gain.  And 
now,  why  can't  you  be  satisfied  ?  " 

"  Because,"  said  Forbes,  pettishly.  "  I  don't 
think  such  lunatics  as  you  ought  to  be  at 
large.  I  don't  care  how  absurd  a  man's  actions 
are,  if  he  can  only  give  a  good  reason  for  them. 
And  that  you  won't  do." 

Kooystra  laughed  uproariously  over  this 
astounding  proposition,  whereupon  Forbes 


9«  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

turned  sulky  and  pretended  to  be  absorbed  in 
a  book  ;  and  there  was  silence  in  heaven  for 
the  space  of  ten  minutes. 

Then  Kooystra  spoke,  in  the  tone  of  one 
finishing  some  previous  remark. 

"There  are  some  women,  you  know,  in 
whom  one  feels  instant  and  absolute  confi- 
dence. Little  Miss  Wyndham,  for  instance. 
I'd  trust  her  with  my  life — or  my  soul." 

"  She'd  take  a  devilish  deal  better  care  of  it 
than  you  do,"  said  Forbes,  dryly. 

"  Well,"  continued  Kooystra,  without  notic- 
ing this  irrelevant  speech.  "  Mrs.  Grandison  is 
not  one  of  those  women." 

The  delightful,  lazy  weeks  at  Barbizon  wore 
away.  Jean  returned  to  Paris  about  the  I5th 
of  November,  and  established  herself  in  a  cozy 
apartment  at  the  Hotel  Louis-le-Grand,  quickly 
gathering  round  her  every  feminine  daintiness 
of  decoration,  and  beginning  to  lead  a  life  of 
rather  ostentatious  retirement,  softened  by 
some  musical  and  artistic  pleasures. 

The  arrangements  for  her  sittings  to  Forbes 
were  quickly  made,  and  the  sittings  began 
goon  after  his  return  to  town,  but  Kooystra 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  99 

was,  as  usual,  rather  impracticable.  In  the 
first  place,  he  didn't  want  her  to  go  to  his 
studio  at  all  ;  he  simply  wanted  to  have  the 
freedom  of  her  salon — see  her  often  and  as  he 
pleased,  be  tame  cat  about  the  house — see  her 
alone  and  among  her  friends. 

"  But,  Mr.  Kooystra,"  said  Jean,  laugliing 
outright  over  these  modest  demands,  "  I  have 
no  friends,  and  I  can  not  begin  to  make  a  col- 
lection of  them  by  giving  two  wild  young 
artists  the  run  of  my  salon." 

"Well,  then,  would  she  be  sure  and  let  him 
know  whenever  she  went  to  the  opera  ?  "  Yes, 
that  Jean  would  do  with  pleasure. 

Then  Forbes,  to  whom  the  conventional 
arrangement  of  Mrs.  Grandison's  driving  to  his 
studio  in  her  brougham,  accompanied  by  her 
respectable  maid — was  perfectly  acceptable, 
made  some  modest  suggestions. 

He  knew  a  young  American  lady,  an  art- 
student  in  fact — here  the  designing  fellow  had 
the  grace  to  blush  and  Kooystra  grinned 
maliciously.  "  A  Miss  Wyndham,  a  charming 
girl,  and  if  she  might  be  permitted  to  make 
Mrs.  Grandison's  acquaintance,  then  he  and 


100  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

she  and  Kooystra  might  sometimes  call  on 
Mrs.  Grandison  of  an  evening,  and  so  Kooys- 
tra might  see  Mrs.  Grandison  among  her 
friends. 

"  Ay,"  said  Kooystra  ;  "  now  that's  a  prom- 
ising and  disinterested  suggestion." 

Forbes  blushed  :  Jean  assented  rather  eagerly, 
and  the  plan  was  forthwith  carried  out. 

Miss  Wyndham  proved  to  be  the  younger 
and  prettier  of  the  two  girls  whom  Jean  had 
seen  at  Barbizon  ;  she  was  fresh-natured  and 
enthusiastic,  fell  in  love  with  Jean  at  once,  as 
girls  are  prone  to  do  with  charming  older 
women  ;  and  thenceforward,  the  eccentric  pro- 
cess of  "  sitting  "  to  Kooystra  was  carried  out 
somewhat  on  this  wise  : 

Miss  Wyndham,  her  merry  chaperone  and 
the  two  artists,  would  arrive  in  the  evening 
at  the  pretty  salon  which  Jean  had  made 
pleasant  by  every  device  of  shaded  lamp  and 
soft  hanging,  picture-hung  walls,  and  book- 
strewn  tables.  Some  of  Kooystra's  best 
sketches  were  there,  which,  for  a  wonder,  he 
had  permitted  her  to  buy — a  piano,  heaped 
with  partitions,  and  "  Opere  scelte,"  and  a  few 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  101 

flowers,  in  shallow  bowls.  The  great  white  dog 
lay  on  the  rug  before  a  heaped-up  wood  fire 
evidently  not  built  after  French  principles, 
and  Jane  herself,  who  in  her  ambitious  dreams 
had  not  overestimated  her  power  to  charm  as 
a  hostess,  rising,  in  her  long  black  robes,  to 
welcome  them.  Kooystra,  often  moody  and 
variable  in  society  where  it  was  to  his  interest 
to  shine,  was  at  his  best  in  this  little  circle, 
suggestive  and  facile  in  his  talk,  leading  their 
minds  as  he  wished ;  but  when  the  discussion 
had  become  general,  and  all  were  earnest, 
eager,  interested,  he  fell  silent,  watching  Jean 
with  an  intensity  of  scrutiny.  Forbes,  trans- 
parent young  fellow,  whose  heart  was  in  his 
eyes — when  he  looked  at  Miss  Wyndham — 
used  to  wonder  what  those  strange  looks  might 
mean,  but  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  specu- 
late upon  what  might  be  hidden  under  the 
serene  and  contented  expression  of  Jean's 
high-bred,  intelligent  face.  Nothing  in  Kooys- 
tra's  choice  of  topics  surprised  him,  for  he  was 
accustomed  to  hear  that  young  man  discourse 
as  the  spirit  moved  him  upon  all  subjects  from 
Theosophy  to  Political  Economy,  with  inter- 


102  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

ludes  of  Speculative  Theology,  Spiritualism 
and  ^Esthetics  ;  but  he  might  have  noticed  a 
tendency  toward  the  mysterious,  the  weird, 
fantastic  and  horrible,  an  endeavor  to  rouse 
feelings  of  supernatural  terror  or  awe,  or  the 
pleasurable  counterfeits  of  these  genuine  emo- 
tions which  have  taken  their  place  in  modern 
society,  and  are  the  rather  agreeable  concomi- 
tants of  the  tales  of  Hoffman,  De  Quincey  and 
Poe. 

His  own  picture  of  Jean  was  progressing 
satisfactorily,  in  the  most  commonplace  man- 
ner. She  was  an  ideal  sitter,  patient,  inter- 
ested, lavish  of  time,  and  possessed  of  that 
rarest  gift,  the  result  of  absolute  health  and 
nerves  at  leisure  from  themselves,  the  power 
of  immobility.  He  knew  that  she  bestowed 
some  brief  hours  in  Kooystra's  studio  also, 
but  asked  no  questions  o'f  either  one.  What 
went  on  there  amused  and  puzzled  Jean  her- 
self, who  also  asked  no  questions.  She  went 
in  her  every  day  attire,  the  severely  simple 
black  dress,  which  hung  so  gracefully.  Kooys- 
tra  was  a  charming  host,  receiving  her  with 
cordiality,  showing. her  every  courteous  atten- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH  103 

tion,  talking  in  his  pleasantest  tones  on  every 
attractive  subject. 

Occasionally  he  would  ask  her  to  place  her 
hand  in  this  or  that  position,  to  turn  her  head 
this  way  or  that,  and  for  a  moment  would  gaze 
with  frowning  intentness,  then  dismissing  the 
subject  with  a  sort  of  grunt,  would  begin  to 
talk  of  art,  to  unveil  with  a  frankness  and 
spontaneity  unusual  with  him  his  ideals,  re- 
vealing the  springs  of  his  convictions,  his  ardor, 
his  dreams. 

Jean's  programme  for  the  future  included  a 
plan  of  universal  fascination  and  sway  over  the 
minds  of  the  other  sex,  and  this,  in  her  opin- 
ion, was  to  be  best  accomplished  by  being  "  all 
things  to  all  men."  Gifted  with  tact  and  much 
dramatic  power,  she  would  have  found  this 
versatility  easy,  even  had  she  not  possessed 
one  of  those  natures,  frequent  among  women, 
which  without  a  suspicion  of  pretense,  fall  so 
readily  into  sympathy  and  accord  with  the 
moods  and  ideas  of  those  with  whom  they  are 
in  contact,  as  to  make  them  for  the  moment 
practically  their  own. 

Kooystra's  most  intimate  associates    jarred 


104  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

upon  him  at  times,  questioning  him  when  he 
felt  most  reserved,  demanding  plans  and  pur- 
poses when  he  was  most  inclined  to  drift  with 
the  stream  of  circumstances.  Jean,  who  never 
petted  him  nor  purred  over  him  as  other 
women  did,  who  asked  no  questions,  and 
demanded  no  results,  but  who  responded  to 
the  mood  of  the  moment,  and  was  thoughtful 
or  merry  as  he  seemed  to  will,  soothed  him 
inexpressibly. 

"  Here,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "  is  one  per- 
son who  understands  me."  Which  Jean  would 
never  have  taken  the  trouble  to  do,  being 
entirely  absorbed  in  the  effect  she  herself  was 
producing ;  but  the  belief  had  the  usual  result. 

And  at  the  end  of  two  months,  Jean,  who 
watched  with  intelligent  interest  every  stroke 
of  Forbes'  brush,  absolutely  did  not  know 
whether  Kooystra  was  painting  a  picture  of 
her,  or  not. 

Meantime,  a  very  pleasant  intimacy  grew  up 
between  Jean  and  the  young  girl-student, 
Sylvia  Wyndham. 

Sylvia  was  an  American,  aristocrat  to  the 
finger-tips,  comme  il y  en  a  pas  mal  in  that  dem- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  105 

ocratic  country.  Her  mother  was  sprung  from 
one  of  the  French  families,  which  in  the  last 
years  of  the  eighteenth  century,  leavened  the 
society  of  certain  towns  in  New  Jersey;  her 
father  came  of  an  English  stock  planted  in 
"the  colonies"  when  these  comprised  but  a 
little  strip  along  the  Atlantic  seaboard  from 
Old  Plymouth  to  the  Carolinas. 

Sylvia's  eager  mind  had  fed  itself  upon  all 
that  was  best  in  books,  but  her  artistic  crav- 
ings had  been  starved  in  the  famine-stricken 
precincts  of  a  small  inland  town.  Her  long- 
ings for  artistic  expression,  she  had  satisfied  as 
best  she  might,  passing  through  all  the  stages 
of  sdi-disant  "Art-work,"  from  faint  pencil- 
sketches  on  shiny  board  and  "  spatter-work," 
to  the  pasting  of  glazed  figures  on  the  inside 
of  gold-fish  globes  and  the  adornment  of  drain- 
pipes with  "conventionalized  "  daubs  in  oil. 

But  something  there  was  in  Sylvia's  nature, 
a  scorn  of  small  pretense,  a  stern  directness  of 
judgment,  a  recoil  from  all  that  was  petty  or 
untrue,  from  which  it  followed,  as  the  night 
the  day,  that  her  ideals  remained  pure  and 
unperverted.  Thus  she  triumphed  over  all 


io6  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

that  was  belittling  in  her  surroundings,  keeping 
in  her  heart  an  altar  ready,  whereon  she  might, 
without  irreverence,  kindle  a  sacred  fire. 

When,  happily  while  Sylvia  was  still  young, 
by  the  death  of  a  distant  relative,  a  large  for- 
tune fell  in  to  Mrs.  Wyndham,  her  hopes  and 
dreams  of  study  abroad  were  fulfilled.  Mrs. 
Wyndham  had  taken  her  at  once  to  France, 
but  imperative  business  having  recalled  her, 
she  had  been  unwilling  to  deprive  Sylvia  of  a 
day's  steeping  in  the  artistic  atmosphere,  and 
had  left  her,  carefully  chaperoned  and  com- 
panioned, to  continue  her  work  at  Barbizon 
and  in  Paris. 

Sylvia  had  been  seized  with  an  enthusiasm 
of  admiration  for  Jean,  and  Jean  herself  found 
an  altogether  fresh  pleasure  in  the  society  of 
the  very  first  one  of  her  own  sex  whom  she 
had  ever  known  well,  and  whose  eager,  ingenu- 
ous, yet  cultivated  mind,  made  her  companion- 
able at  every  point. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  Tis  not  your  work,  but  Love's — the  Master  Love  ;  a 
more  ideal  artist  he,  than  all." 

IT  is  November.  A  keen  north-east  wind 
hurries  long  drifts  of  gray  cloud  across  a 
gray  sky ;  the  trees  sigh,  stretching  forth  stiff 
arms  and  wavering  fingers  as  if  to  stay  the 
flight  of  their  last  wrinkled  leaves.  At  the 
forest's  edge  stands  a  stately  woman,  bare- 
headed, pale,  in  somber  garb ;  a  white  hound 
fawns  upon  her — her  right  hand  holds  the 
reins,  while  her  left  is  on  the  neck  of  a  great 
gray  horse,  whose  startled  head  is  close  to  hers, 
whose  streaming  mane  mingles  with  a  loose 
lock  of  her  fair  hair,  and  whose  wild  eyes 
reflect  her  fierce,  boding  glance. 

This  is  what  the  eager  crowds,  elbowing  one 
another  in  the  long  galleries  of  the  Palais  d' 
Industrie,  saw  hanging  before  them  in  a  dull 
gold  frame,  and  signed  "  Paulus  Kooystra." 

The  general  public,  which  is  always  attracted 


io8  THE   WHOLE    TRUTH. 

by  size,  gazed  and  conjectured;  uninstructed 
by  the  catalogue  they  pronounced  it  "  bien 
beau  mais  un  peu  sombre,"  "  une  vivandiere," 
"  la  Reine  Atosse,"  or  "  Bradamante,  d'  Ariost," 
according  to  their  degrees  of  culture  and 
imagination. 

The  fortunate  possessors  of  a  catalogue  in 
which  it  was  set  down  as  a  "  dame  en  amazone  " 
were  variously  affected,  but  perhaps  the  general 
opinion  was  voiced  by  a  man  in  a  blowse,  who 
said,  "  Dame — ce  n'  est  pas  ma  femme  que  je 
ferai  peindre  comme  £a." 

Certain  Philistines,  attracted  to  it  for  similar 
reasons,  thought  it  a  fine,  large  picture,  but  not 
bright-colored  enough,  and  besides,  what  did  it 
mean? 

The  dilettanti  admired,  and  spoke  vaguely 
of  "  feeling,"  "poetry,"  and  "  insight,"  and  one 
fortunate  young  person  of  that  ilk,  lately 
steeped  in  Wagnerism  and  legendary  lore,  hit 
upon  an  idea,  and  went  about  murmuring: 
"  C'est  un  saga — tout  un  saga  " — which  be- 
came forthwith  the  party-word. 

The  artists  were  more  precise  and  less 
unanimous :  talking  learnedly  of  handling, 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  109 

technique  and  breadth — but  on  the  whole 
approved.  Some  few  men  and  women,  artists 
with  souls  above  the  technicalities  and  the 
jealousies  of  their  art,  amateurs  unbiased  by 
cliques  and  uninfluenced  by  picture-dealers, 
recognized  the  true  merit  of  Kooystra's  picture, 
and  saw  more  than  mere  promise  in  its  daring. 

Forbes'  portrait  of  Jean  had  been  hung  in 
another  room,  and  had  made  a  strong  impres- 
sion. 

This  woman  who  was  almost  beautiful;  whose 
simple  black  gown  revealed  a  throat  and  arms 
which  were  superb  ;  who  was  neither  putting  on 
a  glove,  nor  holding  a  book,  nor  toying  with  a 
flower — but  who  sat  in  an  old  leather  chair  with 
her  exquisite  hands  lying  idle  in  her  lap — like 
a  certain  "  Argia,  goddess  of  Laziness " — a 
mythological  personage  invented  by  one  of  the 
Kingsleys — this  picture  appealed  to  every  eye  ; 
to  layman  as  to  critic — to  the  one  by  its  inher- 
ent charm  ;  to  the  other  as  a  splendid  achieve- 
ment, almost  a  masterpiece.  The  same  fortu- 
nate young  person  who  had  dubbed  Kooystra's 
picture  a  "  Saga,"  one  day  discovered  a  strange 
resemblance  in  the  faces  of  the  "  Dame  en 


HO  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

Amazone,  and  the  "Portrait  de  Madame  G ." 

The  news  spread  ;  there  was  much  comparison, 
much  running  to  and  fro,  and  a  sort  of  cult  of 
the  two  paintings  became  fashionable,  which 
entailed  much  talk  about  Madame  G.,  the  un- 
known "  veuve  Anglaise  " — a  state  of  things 
which  Jean  had,  perhaps,  shrewdly  foreseen.  At 
this  moment,  had  Jean  chosen  to  appear,  even 
without  introductions,  taking  the  tide  at  the 
flood,  her  success  would  have  been  assured. 
Every  one  talked  of  her.  Kooystra  kept  him- 
self as  invisible  as  one  of  the  "little  people," 
but  Forbes  was  overwhelmed  with  questions. 
He  was  most  discreet,  speaking  guardedly  of 
Mme.  G.  in  terms  of  the  deepest  respect,  and 
it  was  only  on  much  persuasion  from  an  old 
and  valued  friend  of  his  own,  that  he  consented 
to  ask  permission  to  present  Colonel  Yorke  to 
Jean. 

"  She  is  most  reserved,"  he  said,  to  that 
gentleman.  "  Not  at  all  the  sort  of  person  to 
pick  up  acquaintances  anywhere  and  every- 
where." 

"  You  flatter  me — and  yourself,"  said  his 
friend  with  a  laugh.  "  But  I  wish  to  meet 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  ill 

'  Mme.  G /not  from  idle  curiosity,  but  from 

a  genuine  interest  with  which  her  face  inspires 
me." 

"  I'll  try  my  luck  for  you"  repeated  Forbes, 
but  when  he  called  at  the  Hotel  Louis-le. 
Grand  to  fulfill  his  promise,  Jean  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XL 

"  To  say  the  Truth, 
True  and  not  true. " 

WHATEVER  impulse,  whatever  fitful 
mood  of  infirm  purpose,  had  prompted 
Jean  to  leave  Paris  at  the  very  moment  when 
the  social  success  she  craved  seemed  within  her 
grasp,  at  least  it  was  no  hesitancy,  no  lack  of 
ease  in  playing  the  part  she  had  chosen.  Her 
first  slight  embarrassments  had  been  those  of 
an  actress  not  yet  thoroughly  conversant  with 
her  role.  But  as,  on  the  stage,  with  each  repe- 
tition new  possibilities,  new  aspects  of  the 
character  are  developed,  until  the  impersona- 
tion has  become  something  like  a  well-fitting 
glove,  which,  while  receiving  the  impress  of 
every  characteristic  curve  and  hollow,  imposes 
its  own  fixed  shape  upon  the  hand  within  ;  so 
Jean,  having  now  been  "  Mrs.  Grandison  "  to  all 
about  her  for  some  ten  months,  had  so 
thoroughly  fitted  herself  into  that  personage, 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  113 

that  her  very  thoughts  were  but  complacent 
spectators  of  the  finish  of  her  assumption  of 
the  part. 

The  vivid  imagination  which  had  enlivened 
many  a  dreary  hour  of  her  colorless  girlhood, 
was  combined  in  her  with  strong  dramatic  in- 
stincts, which  had  hitherto  found  no  expres- 
sion, except  in  dreams.  She  had  often  wished 
to  be  an  actress — in  her  girlish  reveries  she  was 
always  posing  to  an  imaginary  audience  in  roles 
of  more  or  less  grandeur,  but  all  of  equal  fasci- 
nation ;  in  her  isolated  and  unnoticed  youth 
picturing  an  imaginary  self — such  as  she  wished 
to  appear.  And  now,  with  her  own  delighted 
consciousness  and  all  the  rest  of  the  world  as 
spectators,  she  was  playing  a  part  which  was 
better  than  her  dreams. 

The  question  of  right  and  wrong  never  oc- 
curred to  her.  As  a  deception  it  differed  in  no- 
wise to  her  mind,  from  the  illusion  effected  by 
an  actress  on  her  more  limited  public  ;  her  con- 
science had  not  taken  cognizance  of  it  as  a  fault, 
so  simply  and  naturally  had  it  seemed  to  come 
about,  of  so  little  consequence  to  any  one  but 
herself  did  it  all  appear.  The  only  step  which 


H4  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

had  cost  her  the  least  agitation  had  been  that 
first  announcing  herself  by  an  unfamiliar  name 
at  the  hotel  at  Calais.  Since  then  all  had  gone 
on  with  the  most  wonderful  smoothness ;  she 
found  herself  in  what  she  considered — and  in 
this  Jean  was  not  alone — the  most  enviable 
position  in  the  world,  that  of  a  young,  rich 
widow.  She  had  already  succeeded  in  making 
herself  somewhat  interesting  to  the  public  and 
she  became  each  day  more  and  more  inter- 
ested in  herself. 

It  had  seemed  at  first  as  if  this  might  be  the 
opportunity  she  looked  for,  the  moment  when 
the  doors  of  the  magic  circle  calling  itself 
society  were  a-jar  for  her;  but  she  had  re- 
flected that  the  introductions  of  a  couple  of 
young  artists  could  be  of  little  service  to  her, 
and  something  else  had  come  into  her  mind  at 
the  same  time,  as  not  being  precisely  as  she 
wished  it.  Continually  dwelling  on  herself 
and  her  assumed  character,  it  had  occurred  to 
her  that  a  woman  in  her  ostensible  position 
would  be  likely  to  have  some,  at  least,  of  her 
property  in  a  more  tangible  and  recognizable 
form  than  the  convenient  and  portable  bonds 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  115 

which  up  to  this  moment  she  had  been  carry- 
ing about.  They  had  served  their  turn ;  and 
she  smiled  to  herself  as  she  thought  to  what 
an  unexpected  use  they  had  been  put,  in  thus 
enabling  her  to  make  a  change  of  name  and 
identity,  as  she  had  done,  at  a  day's  notice, 
with  no  trouble  about  pecuniary  matters. 

Though  Jean  was  capable  of  an  immense 
amount  of  shrewd  and  long-headed  calculation, 
she  was  yet  swayed  to  an  extraordinary  extent 
by  her  impulses,  and  upon  this  one  she  had 
acted  with  her  wonted  quickness.  A  hasty 
line  to  each  of  the  three  persons  on  whose 
interest  in  her  she  counted  or  whose  friend- 
ship she  valued,  namely,  Sylvia,  Forbes  and 
Kooystra,  a  brief  announcement  to  the  invalu- 
able Pritchett,  about  business  calling  her  to 
England  ;  a  business  interview  with  Madame  la 
proprietaire,  and  Jean  was  off.  Her  neat  little 
brougham  was  placed  at  Sylvia's  orders, 
Pritchett  and  Loki,  the  mare,  were  left  to 
luxurious  idleness,  and  even  Jean's  inseparable 
companion,  the  great  white  dog,  was  not  per- 
mitted to  accompany  her. 

Thus    modestly   unattended,    Jean    betook 


Il6  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

herself  to  a  pension  in  London,  where  she 
had  retained  a  room  by  telegraph,  a  sort  of 
"  family  boarding-house  "  of  the  best  class, 
much  affected  by  Americans,  which  had  been 
recommended  to  her  by  a  charming  little  lady 
of  that  nationality  whom  she  had  met  in  the 
train  the  previous  autumn  between  Paris  and 
Amiens. 

There  were  about  thirty  boarders,  including 
the  inevitable  snuffy  and  depressed  widow, 
and  an  aged  spinster,  whose  appearance 
placed  her  so  far  beyond  the  "  allotted  space  " 
that  when  she  stated  that  she  did  not  wish  a 
cap  for  a  "  young  girl  of  nineteen,  neither  did 
she  wish  a  cap  for  an  old  woman  of  ninety," 
the  beholder  could  only  conclude  that  she  was 
on  the  debatable  ground  between  the  latter 
age  and  a  hundred.  There  was  all  the  variety 
of  the  American  traveling  public,  from  the 
eager  and  vivacious  young  girls  declaiming 
against  the  restraints  of  English  civilization, 
and  equally  interested  in  millinery  and  antiqui- 
ties; the  merry  matron  coming  abroad  to 
"educate  the  children,"  leaving  "papa"  to 
form  a  base  of  supplies  at  home ;  and  the 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  117 

"old  hands"  taking  a  run  for  the  summer  on 
a  marvelously  small  sum  ;  to  specimens  of 
that  class  who  cause  the  profoundest  wonder 
as  to  why  a  discriminating  Providence  permit- 
ted them  to  come  at  all.  Middle-aged,  illiter- 
ate people,  these  last,  not  rich,  spending  pain- 
ful savings  in  away  which  affords  them  a  mini- 
mum of  pleasure ;  dull  of  apprehension — 
absolutely  unable  to  grasp  the  meaning  of 
what  they  see,  yet  plodding  bravely  through 
their  allotted  months  of  traveling,  swayed 
here  and  there  by  any  one's  advice,  voluble 
only  on  the  hideous  discomfort  of  bedrooms 
without  running  water ;  and  returning  at  last 
to  their  native  land  with  a  mass  of  ill-digested 
recollections  of  incomprehensible  things,  and 
finding  in  the  carved  carrots  and  beets  with 
which  the  steamship  steward  decked  his  dishes 
"  the  prettiest  things  we've  seen  yet." 

In  this  enumeration,  however,  others  must 
not  be  forgotten  :  the  really  intelligent  and 
refined  people  of  good  position  and  moderate 
means,  the  very  people  Jean,  in  her  wisdom, 
had  counted  upon  meeting  in  such  a  place. 
Her  first  appearance  among  them,  in  her  miti- 


Il8  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

gated  mourning,  was  hardly  noticed,  so  quietly 
was  it  effected  ;  but  it  was  not  long  before  the 
charm  exerted  over  both  sexes  by  the  reserve 
and  indifference  of  an  attractive  woman,  made 
itself  felt.  Jean  made  no  advances — but  others 
did  ;  she  did  not  court  notice,  but  others 
courted  her,  and  presently,  had  she  chosen,  she 
could  have  been  the  "  intimate  friend,"  of  half 
the  people  in  the  house. 

The  first  two  weeks  of  her  stay  had  been 
chiefly  occupied  in  patient  study  of  advertise- 
ments such  as  the  following  : 

A  Maisonette  in St.,  containing  seven  bedrooms, 

bath  room,  dining,  and  drawing-rooms,  with  good  base- 
ment. To  be  sold.  Giddy  &  Turner.  Pall  Mall,  L.,  W. 


A  Bijou  Residence  in  South  Belgravia.  Dining  and 
drawing-rooms  ;  three  bedrooms  ;  fitted  bath  and  usual 
offices. 


Havant.  To  be  sold.  Gentleman's  Residence.  Three 
reception,  ten  bed,  and  dressing-rooms,  two  stalls,  good 
garden  and  paddock  of  two  acres. 

Isle  of  Wight.  A  lovely  place  to  be  sold  or  let. 
Furnished.  High  ;  bracing ;  matchless  views  ;  shady 
garden,  meadows,  fowl,  and  cow-houses ;  lodge  :  three 
sitting,  and  six  bedrooms  ;  bath.  Good  bathing  and 
yachting. 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  119 

.  Kent.  Easy  reach  of  town.  Charming  country  resi- 
dence, surrounded  by  pretty,  park-like  grounds.  Lodge, 
stabling.  Farmery.  Four  spacious  reception  and  billiard 
rooms.  Every  convenience  for  a  moderate  establishment. 
Rent  only  ,£225,  or  the  estate  of  50  acres  will  be  sold. 


Hard  upon  this  came  excursions  in  cabs  to 
the  regions  described,  made  very  quietly  and 
alone.  The  third  week  was  taken  up  by  nego- 
tiations, as  brief  and  quietly  conducted  as  pos- 
sible, for  a  certain  small  house  in  Hay  Hill 
Street,  the  convenient  situation  and  outward 
aspect  of  which  had  pleased  her,  and  which  she 
purchased  without  much  question  as  to  price. 

There  had  been  a  few  short  country  trips 
also,  and  the  same  week  saw  her  the  possessor 
of  a  little  place  in  Somerset,  which  she  had 
bought  in  the  same  business-like  way  :  not 
haggling  over  terms,  nor  yet  showing  herself  so 
indifferent  as  to  the  value  she  was  to  receive 
for  her  money,  as  to  excite  remark. 

When  all  this  was  done,  and  then  only — did 
Jean  become  at  all  accessible,  gradually  allow- 
ing the  tentative  civilities  of  her  table-neigh- 
bors to  bear  fruit  in  pleasant  conversation, 
lingering  a  little  longer  after  meals,  and  at  last 


120  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

at  Miss  Masters'  entreaty,  overcoming  her 
reluctance  to  spend  her  evenings  in  the  drawing- 
room.  Then  too,  in  a  moment  of  expansion, 
did  Jean  explain  to  Miss  Masters,  that,  to  her 
distress,  she  found  her  little  house  in  Hay  Hill 
in  such  disrepair,  that  on  her  tenant's  account 
she  positively  must  do  something  to  it.  As 
this  would  necessitate  a  much  longer  stay  in 
London  than  she  had  intended,  she  should 
send  for  her  carriage  and  her  maid — she  was  so 
disappointed — she  had  meant  to  have  been 
"  aux  eaux,"  by  this  time.  All  this  being  duly 
repeated,  as  Jean  expected,  the  assiduities  of 
the  favored  few  were  redoubled,  and  a  tall, 
handsome  Irishman  who  did  not  look  above 
thirty,  in  spite  of  a  certain  puffiness  of  the  lids 
of  his  too  liquid  eyes,  made  many  efforts  to 
add  himself  to  the  number. 

But  Major  Limber  had  not  found  favor  in 
Jean's  eyes ;  little  as  she  had  been  in  the  world 
she  was  yet  of  it,  in  every  fiber,  and  she  felt 
that  no  man  of  Major  Limber's  kind,  of  the 
clubs,  of  the  world,  of  experiences  and  of  dash- 
ing tastes,  would  deliberately  choose  the  milk- 
and-water  existence  of  a  boarding-house  with- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  12 1 

out  ulterior  motive.  She  promptly  set  him 
down  in  the  category  of  fortune-hunters,  feeling 
unreasonable  bitterness  toward  him.  Jean 
herself — not  needing  money,  "  meaning  no 
harm,"  by  all  her  schemes  and  plans,  acting,  in 
her  own  view,  merely  in  a  new  kind  of  "  Corn- 
media  dell'  Arte,"  whose  complications  had  the 
charm  of  being  as  unexpected  as  life  itself,  was 
wholly  unconscious  that  he  could  have  a  right 
to  characterize  her  as  an  intrigante.  Major 
Octavius  Limber,  however,  was  far  from  wear- 
ing the  outward  signs  of  his  true  character. 
The  only  son  of  an  Irish  squire,  from  whom 
he  had  inherited,  besides  the  barren  acres  of 
Knocktopher,  only  some  expensive  tastes,  and 
a  useful  unscrupulousness  as  to  the  means  of 
gratifying  them — he  was  handsome  and  distin- 
guished, with  good  manners  slightly  tarnished 
and  the  wit  and  aplomb  of  the  true  Irishman. 
He  was  far  too  astute  to  offend  by  too  open  a 
pursuit  of  wealth,  veiling  his  approaches  under 
a  true  Irish  susceptibility  as  regards  pretty  girls 
and  posing  as  the  devoted  admirer  of  all  such 
under  Miss  Masters'  roof. 

Jean  had  not  been  prejudiced  by  any  fresh 


122  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

assiduities  contingent  upon  the  arrival  of  her 
carriage.  Major  Limber's  civilities  had  been 
persistently  offered — to  her  good  looks — from 
the  first,  and  with  a  fine  strategy,  he  rather 
drew  back  as  the  indisputable  evidences  of  her 
wealth  appeared  ;  but  she  was  conscious  that  he 
had  never  wavered  for  a  moment  in  his  pur- 
pose. When  he  talked  with  a  diplomatic  frank- 
ness of  his  "  little  place"  at  Knocktopher,  and 
of  the  "unpaid  rents  "  which  necessitated  the 
economy  of  living  at  a  boarding-house,  she  was 
conscious,  though  the  words  were  addressed  to 
pretty  Miss  This,  or  charming  Miss  That,  for 
whose  ears  they  were  really  intended.  Clever 
as  he  was,  and  well  masked  as  were  his  efforts 
to  force  his  friendship  upon  her,  Jean  remained 
coldly  polite,  re-enforcing  her  prejudice  by  the 
strong  conviction  which  had  come  to  her,  that 
Major  Limber  and  the  man  whose  attentions  on 
board  ship  had  so  offended  her ;  Major  Limber 
and  the  officer  whose  bold  glances  at  Dover 
had  decided  her  change  of  name,  were  one  and 
the  same. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

"The  most  enduring  wounds  we  receive   in   life,  are 
those  we  suffer  in  our  vanity." 

THE  pleasant  task  of  "doing  over"  the  lit- 
tle house  in  Hay  Hill,  with  all  its  delights 
of  deciding  upon  papers,  and  tints,  and  patterns 
in  stained  glass,  could  not  be  stretched  over 
the  whole  summer,  and  Jean  saw  little  to  gain 
by  a  further  sojourn  at  Miss  Masters.  The 
stream  of  new  people  passing  through  had  de- 
teriorated in  quality — and  Major  Limber  stilj 
remained.  She  had  carefully  avoided  all  con- 
tact with  her  new  tenants,  leaving  them  to  sup- 
pose her  alterations  the  long-promised  "  re- 
pairs" of  their  former  landlord,  and  when  the 
Randolphs,  the  only  people  whom  she  had  ad- 
mitted to  any  thing  like  intimacy,  left  for  a 
tour  of  the  Cathedral  towns,  jshe  felt  herself 
somewhat  lonely.  At  first  Jean  had  not  been 
altogether  pleased  to  recognize  in  Miss  Ran- 
dolph the  elder  of  the  two  girl-students  at  Bar- 


124  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

bizon,  but  both  mother  and  daughter  proving 
companionable,  and  acquainted  in  good  circles, 
she  had  allowed  herself  to  be  won  by  their 
adroit  and  delicate  flatteries.  Sadie  Randolph's 
enthusiasm  for  art  had  lasted  just  long  enough 
for  the  duration  of  a  "  spree,"  had  served,  as 
she  said,  to  "put  in  the  time"  in  a  manner 
both  cheap  and  unexceptionable,  while  Mrs. 
Randolph  was  obliged  to  be  elsewhere.  But 
no  devotion  to  art  as  art  had  existed,  to 
tempt  her  to  forego  the  pleasant  lazy  life  of 
American  Colonies  in  Winter-cities  for  the 
sake  of  earnest  study  with  Sylvia.  Neither 
had  her  interest  in  the  latter  been  sufficient  for 
the  keeping-up  of  a  correspondence ;  she  had 
remained  in  ignorance  of  all  but  the  first  nego- 
tiations for  Jean's  portrait,  and  though  she  had 
half  recognized  in  Jean  the  "belle  veuve"  of 
the  gray  horse  and  white  dog  at  Barbizon,  her 
shrewd  far-seeing  tact  led  her  to  drop  the  sub- 
ject very  quickly  upon  finding  in  Jean  a  disin- 
clination to  dwell  upon  it.  Nor  did  she  ever 
betray  the  tacit  confidence  thus  reposed  in  her,  a 
"  carriage-acquaintance  "  of  infinite  good  nature 
and  a  tendency  to  lend  any  of  her  belongings, 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  125 

being  too  valuable  a  possession  in  London,  to 
be  jeopardized  by  any  indiscretion. 

The  pleasant  companions  of  her  daily  drives 
once  gone,  Jean  saw  no  temptation  to  linger  in 
town  through  a  dusty  season  in  whose  gayeties 
she  took  no  part. 

"  Pritchett,"  she  said,  one  day,  awaking  out 
of  a  reverie  with  one  of  her  sudden  decisions,  a 
plan  springing  full-fledged  from  her  brain,  like 
Minerva  from  Jove's  forehead  : 

"  I  have  a  little  house  in  Somersetshire, 
which  the  tenants  have  just  given  up.  I  have 
a  great  mind  to  go  there  for  the  rest  of  the 
summer,  or  until  I  am  ready  to  go  home.  I 
don't  mean  " — she  thought  to  herself — "  to  be 
always  talking,  like  Major  Limber,  about  a 
place  no  one  has  ever  seen." 

"Indeed,  madam,"  answered  Pritchett,  "I 
do  think  some  quiet  country  air  would  do  you 
good." 

She  was  really  attached  to  Jean,  whose 
unexacting  disposition  and  quiet  serenity  of 
speech  and  manner  won  all  who  were  about 
her  or  in  her  service. 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  will  do  it,"  went  on  Jean. 


126  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

"  Perhaps  Miss  Wyndham  will  come  to  me 
for  a  month  or  two.  Pritchett,  you  may 
engage  some  people  for  me.  A  cook  and  two 
maids  will  be  enough,  the  house  is  very  small. 
No,  three  maids,  as  I  don't  wish  to  have  a  man 
in  the  house.  But  I  shall  buy  some  more 
horses,  so  Girth  had  better  get  two  men  for  the 
stable  ;  there  is  a  gardener  there,  but  I  wish  all 
the  rest  to  go  down  from  London." 

The  plan  thus  concisely  stated,  was  carried 
out  to  the  letter.  The  house,  small,  as  Jean 
had  said,  but  a  charming  old  small  house :  a 
little  straggling  in  plan,  with  dormers  and 
lattices  thick  with  creepers  and  climbing  roses, 
and  a  velvet  lawn,  level  with  door  and  window- 
sills,  had  been  bought,  fully  furnished  with 
the  simple  comforts  of  country  gentility.  All 
sorts  of  modern  plenishings  in  the  way  of 
American  chairs,  striped  awnings,  Indian  mat- 
tings for  indifferent  use  as  dado  or  door- 
curtain,  to  spread  under  foot  or  hang  over- 
head ;  hammocks,  vases,  china  jugs,  rush  tables 
and  sofas,  Chinese  lanterns,  dainty  silverware 
and  "  high-art "  table-linen,  afforded  Jean 
another  week  of  delight  in  the  purchasing,  and 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  127 

were  sent  down  to  complete  the  charm  of  the 
tiny  home'at  Manycotes. 

Sylvia  was  written  to,  and  promised  her 
presence  in  September  and  October,  and  Mrs. 
Randolph  so  shaped  her  tour  as  to  be  able  to 
accept  Jean's  invitation  for  two  weeks  in  July, 
promising  herself  much  satisfaction  in  writing 
home  full  accounts  of  her  visit  in  an  English 
country  house,  though  Jean  apologized  for  the 
dullness  into  which  she  was  luring  them.  "  No 
one  will  have  come  home  so  early,"  she  said. 
"  You  will  meet  no  one  but  the  curate  before 
the  twelfth  of  August." 

Cunning  Jean,  who,  in  her  several  trips  to 
Manycotes  had  become  acquainted  with  said 
curate,  just  installed,  and  as  new  to  the  place  as 
herself,  therefore  not  likely  to  know  or  reveal  the 
fact  that  she  had  never  lived  there  before ; 
she  was  also  well-assured  that  in  July  her  other 
neighbors  would  really  be  away,  and  her  lack 
of  acquaintances  among  them  not  noticed  by 
her  guests. 

There  remained  two  or  three  weeks  before 
the  coming  of  these  last,  in  which  to  get  the 
house  in  daintiest  order,  and  to  put  to  good 


128  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

use  the  remarkable  facility  Jean  possessed,  of 
informing  herself  as  to  every  thifig  round 
about  her,  without  asking  a  question  ;  picking 
up  information  here  and  there  as  unostenta- 
tiously as  a  white  wasp  captures  flies,  and 
assimilating  it  in  equal  retirement.  During 
this  time  too,  something  occurred,  of  which 
Jean  learned  only  the  salient  facts,  but  which 
turned  to  her  advantage,  while  she  remained 
absolutely  unconscious  of  its  bearing  upon  her 
affairs.  A  feud,  at  once  fierce  and  irrecon- 
cilable, was  established  between  Pritchett  and 
the  servants  she  had  chosen  for  her  mistress' 
household,  and  whom  she  considered  insuffi- 
ciently mindful  of  that  mistress'  interests. 
Girth,  who  had  been  courting  Pritchett  ever 
since  their  co-service  began,  had  a  shrewd 
eye  to  her  savings,  and  remained  devotedly 
attached  to  her,  while  the  two  stable  lads, 
dazzled  by  the  bright  eyes  of  the  maids  and 
the  solid  charms  of  Mrs.  Cook — joined  their 
faction.  Between  the  two  camps  there  was  no 
communication.  Girth  and  Pritchett,  after  the 
manner  of  lovers  in  other  grades  of  life,  were 
all  in  all  to  each  other,  seeking  no  other 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  129 

society,  and  hence  the  indirect  benefit  to  Jean. 
For  the  kitchen  faction,  naturally  inquiring, 
and  with  a  perfectly  laudable  curiosity,  soon 
learned,  from  the  country  gossip,  that  their 
mistress  had  acquired  the  property  not  six 
weeks  before,  by  purchase,  instead  of  holding 
it,  as  Pritchett  had  assumed,  under  her  hus- 
band's will.  And  this  fact,  which  it  was  evi- 
dently to  Jean's  interest  that  her  permanent 
servants  should  not  know,  remained  uncommu- 
nicated,  through  Girth  and  Pritchett  holding 
themselves  severely  aloof  from  kitchen  gossip. 
The  quiet  we^ks  at  Manycotes  afforded  little 
incident,  and  no  new  materials  for  the  plot 
of  Jean's  comedy  of  contemporary  life.  The 
mise-en- scene  was  perfect,  the  performers  lady- 
like and  graceful — and  nothing  happened  ;  a 
state  of  affairs  out  of  which  not  only  some 
contemporary  playwrights,  but  a  good  many 
favorite  novelists,  would  be  enabled  to  evolve  a 
vast  deal  of  very  pretty  writing. 

The  Randolphs  arrived.  Jean  herself  met 
them  at  the  station,  ready  to  take  pretty 
Sadie  into  her  dainty  phaeton,  while  honoring 
Mrs.  Randolph  with  sole  possession  of  the 


13°  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

victoria.  "  It  is  a  modest  little  establishment," 
wrote  Jean,  "  and  affords  no  'coach  of  state,' 
so  I  shall  meet  you  myself." 

And  Jean's  disgust  may  be  imagined  when 
she  saw,  descending  from  the  railway  carriage 
and  offering  a  courteous  arm  to  Mrs.  Randolph, 
Major  Limber  himself. 

This  bold  move  on  the  major's  part  was 
due  partly  to  a  wish  to  convince  himself  of 
the  reality  of  Jean's  proprietary  charms,  and 
the  consequent  advisability  of  continuing  the 
chase,  partly  to  the  Irish  audacity  and  good 
self-opinion  which  led  him  to*  believe  she 
really  could  not  resist  him  when  she  found  him 
in  thorough  earnest.  From  this  latter  dream, 
he  was  destined  to  a  rude  awakening. 

Jean's  surprise  at  seeing  him  was  not  allowed 
to  appear;  no  irritation  showed  itself  in  her 
face  or  in  the  placidity  of  her  manner.  It  was 
Mrs.  Randolph  who  nervously  apologized  for 
his  presence,  hopelessly  bungling  a  speech  over 
which  she  had  been  brooding  for  hours  in 
the  train,  while  Sadie  was  laughing  over  the 
major's  dull,  witty  guide-book  dissertations ; 
and  managing  to  convey  the  idea  that  she  had 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  131 

helplessly  begged  him  to  take  care  of  them, 
instead  of  the  veiled  disclaimer  of  responsi- 
bility which  she  had  intended  ;  and  that  she  was 
quite  too  deeply  indebted  to  him  for  words. 

"  Indeed,  Mrs.  Randolph,"  said  the  hand- 
some major,  secretly  delighted  at  having  his 
purpose  thus  masked,  "you  are  quite  too  good 
to  me.  I've  some  people  at  Bath,  and  running 
down  to  see  them,  could  do  no  less  than  es- 
cort these  fair  strangers  to  their  journey's  end, 
when  it  was  so  little  out  of  my  way." 

He  turned  a  most  fascinating  smile  upon 
Jean,  shrewdly  calculating  on  her  knowing  how 
very  far  he  had  come  out  of  his  way  to  Bath, 
for  her  sake  ;  but  he  had  not  calculated  on  a 
readiness  and  audacity  equal  to  his  own. 
Jean  met  the  smile  with  placid  blankness,  and 
said,  in  suave  and  unmoved  tones: 

"  How  very  kind  of  Major  Limber  !  And 
now,  Major  Limber,  if  you  will  get  into  the 
carriage  with  Mrs.  Randolph,  I  shall  be  happy 
to  take  you  home  to  lunch  with  us,  and  shall 
then  take  pleasure  in  sending  you  to  meet  the 
up  express  at  five,  by  which  I  know  you  can 
reach  Bath  in  time  for  dinner." 


132  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

And  thus,  with  bitterness  and  gnashing  of 
teeth,  as  well  as  with  an  uncomfortable  and 
profitless  call  upon  his  purse — for  of  course  he 
hadn't  a  soul  at  Bath — ended  Major  Limber's 
scheme  of  a  visit  at  Manycotes. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

"  There  is,  even  for  the  most  confirmed  hypochondriac, 
a  magic  in  the  word — Rome  !  Artists,  poets,  sovereigns, 
statesmen  and  saints,  '  young  men  and  maidens,'  all 
have  found,  or  can  find,  their  happiness  there." 

THIS  story,  not  being  a  novel  of  the  guide- 
book or  descriptive  order,  though  it  has 
already  wandered  to  many  places  on  the  sur- 
face of  this  good  old  globe,  and  is  destined  to 
wander  yet  a  little  more,  is  not  the  place  to 
enlarge  upon  the  above  text,  except  in  apply- 
ing it  in  certain  particular  cases.  Moreover,  as 
it  is  peculiarly  a  text  not  to  be  "  understanded 
of  the  vulgar,"  (read  those  who  have  not  been 
to  Rome),  it  would  be  much  writing  to  lit- 
tle result ;  while,  after  all,  the  conclusion  of 
the  whole  matter  may  be  summed  up  in 
the  words,  true  though  few,  of  the  proverb 
which  says  "  Chi  Roma  non  vede,  Roma  non 
crede."  Drawn,  then,  by  motives  as  various 
as  their  characters,  the  middle  of  December 


134  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

found  in  Rome  not  only  Forbes  and  Kooys- 
tra,  but  Sylvia  Wyndham  and  her  mother, 
Jean — and  Major  Limber.  With  the  two 
young  men  it  was  a  long-cherished  plan,  de- 
pendent upon  the  state  of  the  exchequer, 
and  now  to  be  carried  out  on  the  strictest 
principles  of  economy ;  so,  instead  of  gravi- 
tating to  the  Via  Margutta  or  Gregoriana, 
they  had  found  quarters  at  an  imperceptible 
price,  in  a  queer  nook  near  the  Tiber.  To 
Sylvia  it  was  the  fulfillment  of  a  dream.  To 
winter  in  Rome  with  her  darling  mother,  in 
an  artistic  atmosphere,  the  companion  of 
artists,  and  with  some  modest  claim — more 
modest  than  necessary — to  be  called  an  artist 
herself — Sylvia  felt  herself  blessed  indeed. 

To  Major  Limber,  Rome,  like  most  other 
places,  was  a  hunting-ground  to  which  he 
returned  each  year,  after  the  fashion  of  all 
sportsmen,  with  new  hopes  effacing  the  mem- 
ory of  old  failure. 

As  for  Jean,  who  on  a  sudden  found  herself 
free,  rich,  popular,  and  possessed  of  that  new 
treasure — a  friend — she  was  in  a  curiously  con- 
tented state.  Whatever  ambitious  plans  were 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  135 

in  her  mind,  whatever  purpose  of  a  return  to 
her  own  country  with  the  prestige  of  foreign 
social  success,  she  was  satisfied  for  the  moment 
to  leave  them  looming  vaguely  on  the  horizon 
of  her  present,  leading  a  dozy,  dreamy  sort  of 
existence,  in  which  she  was  nearer  happiness 
than  she  had  ever  been.  The  two  months 
Sylvia  had  spent  with  her  at  Manycotes  had 
really  been  the  happiest  days  she  had  ever 
known.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  had 
been  intimately  associated  with  a  cultivated 
woman  of  intellectual  powers  as  good  as  her 
own  ;  who,  with  her,  could  discuss,  criticise, 
appreciate  and  enjoy  on  equal  terms.  Her 
eight  years  of  seniority  were  felt  only  as  an 
advantage,  adding  a  sort  of  deference  and 
trust  to  Sylvia's  affection.  No  one  can  be 
insensible  to  the  flattery  of  being  looked  up 
to  ;  and  for  Jean,  to  whom  admiration  was  alto- 
gether new,  it  was  the  sweetest,  most  intoxi- 
cating incense. 

Little,  then,  was  needed,  besides  the  pros- 
pect of  Sylvia's  presence,  to  tempt  her  to 
Rome ;  she  loved  the  place  ;  even  in  those  old 
days  of  slavery  she  had  felt  its  charm,  and 


136  THE    WHOL£    TRUTH. 

she  fancied  she  should  like  its  foreign  soci- 
ety, entrance  into  which,  in  her  new  position 
should  not  be  difficult.  .  So  Sylvia,  lately 
arrived  at  the  Hotel  dell*  Universe  in  the  Via 
Porta  Pinciana,  received  a  line  from  Jean 
which  she  handed  to  her  mother  with  a  look 
of  delight : 

"  I  have  written  for  rooms  at  your  hotel," 
wrote  Jean,  "though  I  fancy  I  shall  by  and  by 
prefer  a  little  apartment  ;  but  I  wish  to  be 
near  you  for  some  weeks  at  least.  Manycotes 
was  too  lonely  without  you,  and  I  was  obliged 
to  fly  to  Paris  much  sooner  than  the  exigen- 
cies of  my  wardrobe  really  compelled.  I  am 
bringing  Loki  with  me,  for  I  count  upon  long 
rides  on  the  Campagna  with  you.  And  I  also 
bring  two  carriages,  but  no  horses,  for  I  mean 
to  hire  at  first,  and  afterward  to  try  and  buy  a 
pair  of  the  little  black  Roman  horses  which  I 
remember  so  well.  Dear  Bor  comes  of  course, 
and  Pritchett  and  Girth,  whom  you  already 
know,  so  we  shall  be  quite  a  Manycotes  colony 
in  Rome.  I  look  forward  with  much  pleasure 
to  meeting  your  mother.  You  know  it  is  a 
well  known  fact  that  each  generation  deterior- 
ates a  little,  from  mother  to  daughter — so  if 
you  are  so  charming,  what  must  Madame  la 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  137 

Mere  be  ?  Pray  remember  me  to  Mr.  Forbes 
and  Mr.  Kooystra,  if  you  see  them.  I  doubt 
not  we  shall  renew  with  much  zest  our  discus- 
sions upon  '  fate,  free-will  and  foreknowl- 
edge,' and  '  Shakespeare  and  the  musical 
glasses.'  I  am  so  eager  to  follow  my  letter  I 
can  not  spare  the  time  to  make  it  longer. 
Present  my  compliments  and  regards  to  Mrs. 
Wyndham,  and  believe  me  ever  your  attached 
friend,  JEAN  ST.  GEORGE  GRANDISON." 

"Isn't  it  a  charming  letter?  doesn't  she 
write  charmingly?"  cried  enthusiastic  Sylvia. 

"Ostentatious?  a  little — isn't  it?"  asked 
Mrs.  Wyndham,  handing  it  back  to  her  daugh- 
ter. "  So  much  about  the  horses  and  serv- 
ants and  all  that." 

"  Oh  !  mother !  if  you  knew  her,  you  would 
never  think  of  such  a  thing ;  it  is  only  that 
she  knows  I  am  interested  in  every  one  and 
every  thing  at  Manycotes.  I  knew  all  the 
horses  by  their  names.  If  you  could  but  see 
it  !  It  is  the  simplest  house— but  so  perfect. 
No  man-servant  even,  only  maids — and  every 
thing  so  daintily  simple.  She  is  so  used  to 
having  those  things  all  her  life,  she  never  thinks 
of  parading  them,  but  it  is  natural  for  her  to 


138  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

have  them.  She  is  so  devoted  to  Loki  and 
Bor,  and  I'm  sure  I  love  Bor  as  if  he  were  my 
own  brother  !  " 

Mrs.  Wyndham  laughed. 

"  Well,  my  little  daughter,"  she  said,  "  I  have 
great  confidence  in  your  discretion." 

And  so  Jean,  arriving,  was  received  with  a 
warm  welcome  not  only  by  Sylvia,  but  by  Mrs. 
Wyndham,  who  felt  her  confidence  in  her  daugh- 
ter's judgment  justified,  at  sight  of  the  refined, 
stately  woman,  with  a  winning  sadness  in  her 
handsome  face.  The  first  weeks  of  her  stay, 
however,  were  perhaps  not  precisely  what  she 
could  have  wished  ;  she  was  glad  to  be  with 
Sylvia,  she  was  glad  to  be  at  Rome,  but  some- 
thing still  was  lacking  to  her  absolute  content. 
With  an  appearance  which  grew  more  attractive 
with  every  day's  increasing  belief  in  herself — a 
great  help  to  good  looks  when  it  does  .not 
betray  itself  in  a  fatuous  consciousness;  with 
wealth  and  a  name  which  seemed  to  entitle  her 
to  a  place  and  position  in  the  only  world  she 
cared  for,  Jean  did  not  find  herself  lancte  as 
quickly  as  she  had  hoped. 

Sylvia  had   many  friends  in  Rome,  and    was 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  139 

much  liked  ;  too  popular  indeed,  for  the  pros- 
perity of  her  studies.  Jean  found  the  girl  less 
engrossed  with  her  than  ever  before,  and 
though  she  and  her  mother  were  kind  and  cor- 
dial, Mrs.  Wyndham's  liking  growing  warmer 
every  day,  such  passing  introductions  as  they 
were  able  to  give  her  led  to  nothing  more. 
The  little  brougham  or  the  victoria  with  the 
quickly  purchased  Roman  horses  were  as  much 
Sylvia's  as  hers — for  Jean  was  generous  with 
those  she  loved,  though  too  wise  to  court  pop- 
ularity by  extending  these  favors  to  the 
casual  acquaintances  of  the  table  d'hote. 
But  in  spite  of  Sylvia's  undiminished  affection, 
Jean  was  much  alone,  a  good  deal  discouraged, 
and  beginning  to  think  she  had  perhaps  better 
pose  as  a  would-be  convert,  and  by  throwing  her- 
self into  the  arms  of  the  clerical  party  gain  en- 
trance into  a  certain  section  of  Roman  society. 
It  was  one  of  the  glorious,  golden-sunny  days 
not  absolutely  characteristic  of  a  Roman  winter 
— for  the  enthusiastic  traveler,  recalling  past 
joys,  is  too  apt  to  forget  that  there,  as  else- 
where, "  some  rain  must  fall,  some  days  must 
be  dark  and  dreary ;  " — it  was,  however,  one  of 


140  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

those  days,  incomparable  when  they  do  come, 
and  Sylvia,  having  "  stolen  an  afternoon,"  as 
she  declared,  from  her  other  engagements,  was 
riding  with  Jean  across  the  grassy  stretch  of  the 
Campagna.  Jean's  groom,  dismounted  from  his 
clever  little  English  bay  in  Sylvia's  favor, 
pounded  after  them  on  one  of  the  Roman 
horses  with  ill-concealed  disgust  ;  but  the  gray 
and  bay  mares  were  as  contented  as  their 
riders,  pacing  soberly  side  by  side  with  much 
interchange  of  nose-touchings  and  equine  con- 
fidences, while  Jean  and  Sylvia  chatted  idly  and 
happily  above  their  heads. 

"  How  idle  I  have  been  !  "  Sylvia  was  saying, 
in  a  voice  by  no  means  repentant.  "  I  am  such 
a  cheat  too,  after  writing  mamma  so  much 
about  the  'atmosphere  of  art,'  and  after  all, 
it  turns  out  to  be  an  atmosphere  of  music  and 
dancing.  I  am  more  frivolous  than  I  was  at 
eighteen." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jean,  with  a  smile,  "  I  hoped  a 
great  deal  from  some  of  the  sketches  you  made 
at  Manycotes.  You  know  I  can  not  go  to 
America  without  something  of  yours — to  keep 
you  in  my  mind." 


THE    WHOLE   TRUTH.  141 

The  glance  of  trustful  affection  they  ex- 
changed told  how  little  this  was  needed. 

"  I  am  too  happy  to  be  industrious,  I  be- 
lieve," with  a  little  laugh  of  irrepressible  de- 
light. "  To  be  in  Rome — -with  you,  and  dear 
mamma — it  seems  too  good  to  be  true,  and  it 
demoralizes  me." 

"You  think  then,"  said  Jean,  "  that  it  is  true, 
as  we  were  reading  one  day  at  Manycotes — 

"  '  The  heart  must  bleed  before  it  feels, 
The  pool  be  troubled  before  it  heals.' 

Do  you  really  think  no  enduring  achievement 
possible  as  the  outcome  of  an  untroubled, 
happy  life  ?  " 

"  That  is  M.  Kooystra's  belief,  not  mine  " — 
a  sudden  thoughtfulness  shadowing  her  bright 
face.  "  He  is  very  odd,  I  think.  He  is  so 
young  and  seems  so  gay,  and  yet  he  has  done 
so  wonderfully  much  in  his  art — he  has  really 
one  of  the  greatest  talents  I  have  ever  encoun- 
tered. I  am  always  sorry  to  hear  him  speak  so 
bitterly." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  only  true  of  some,"  said  Jean, 
rather  sadly.  "  But  I  do  not  like  to  think  so. 
My  own  life  has  not  been  happy,  and  I  have 


142  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

achieved  nothing ;  trouble  has  only  imbittered 
me  and  deadened  every  faculty.  I  am  sure  I 
might  have  been  a  good  woman  if  I  had  had  a 
happy  youth — like  yours." 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Grandison  !  "  cried  Sylvia  fondly, 
stretching  out  her  hand  to  her  ;  "  I  don't  see  how 
you  could  have  been  better!  I  am  sure  I  could 
not  have  loved  you  so  much  if  you  had  been. 
You  would  have  been  priggish  and  goody- 
goody,  and  all  sorts  of  horrid  things  ! " 

"  At  all  events,"  said  Jean,  returning  her 
clasp  with  a  tender  smile,  "  I  mean  to  believe 
that  for  you  it  will  be  different.  That  you  may 
achieve  great  things,  and  yet  be  happy,  too. 
That  the  fair  goddess,  Fortune,  may  fall  deep  in 
love  with  thee,  as  Forbes  said  to  you  on  your 
birthday.  Sylvia,  if  unanimity  of  good  wishes 
will  serve,  you  should  prosper." 

Sylvia  blushed  a  little,  turning  away  her  head, 
and  answered : 

"Oh!  I  mean  to  be  diligent.  I  must  not 
disappoint  so  many  who  love  me.  To-night  is 
the  ball — and  after  the  ball  no  more  frivolity ! 
I  must  work.  But  to-day — "  turning  her  glow- 
ing face  to  Jean — "  I  feel  so  overwhelmingly 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  143 

happy — I  can't  tell  what  it  means.  I  am  sure 
something  good  is  going  to  happen  to  me.  Let 
us  gallop." 

Jean  laughed  and  shook  her  rein  ;  the  horses, 
too  long  restrained,  sprang  forward,  rushing 
eagerly  across  the  grassy  slopes.  The  shep- 
herds in  their  goat-skin  garments  with  their 
great,  gaunt,  wolf-like  dogs,  looked  up  from 
among  their  startled  sheep  and  muttered 
"  Pazze  Inglese,"  as  the  splendid  horses  dashed 
past,  and  Dance,  the  groom,  inly  echoed  the 
impolite  phrase,  as  his  awkward  brute  came  on 
his  knees  across  a  small  ditch  which  the  others 
scarcely  noticed  in  their  stride. 

They  had  come  out  by  the  Porta  Pia  and  had 
ridden  far  along  the  Via  Nomentana,  but  re- 
membering the  ball  to  which.  Sylvia  was  going, 
they  turned  homeward  at  about  the  hour  when 
the  Roman  world  was  beginning  to  drive  out  in 
wheeled  vehicles  of  various  degrees  of  splen- 
dor. 

Riding  on  the  grass  by  the  side  of  the  road, 
they  were  now  high  above  it,  now  level  with  it, 
and  Sylvia  was  recognized  and  greeted  from 
many  carriages  whose  occupants  bestowed 


144  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

upon  Jean,  at  her  best  in  hat  and  habit,  curious 
and  admiring  glances. 

The  hills  were  growing  purple  instead  of 
blue,  and  they  presently  urged  their  horses  to 
a  sharp  trot,  that  twilight  might  not  overtake 
them  on  the  Campagna.  The  tide  of  vehicles 
was  turning,  too,  and  they  wished  to  reach  the 
gate  before  them. 

Some  one  else  came  riding  toward  them 
from  the  city,  indifferent,  as  it  seemed,  to 
gathering  darkness,  to  miasma  of  to  other 
dangers  ;  some  one,  who,  meeting  and  passing 
them  at  a  hand-gallop  and  without  recognition, 
nevertheless  caused  Sylvia  to  rein  in  her  horse, 
her  cheeks  flushing  and  her  voice  thrilling  as 
she  cried  : 

"  Oh  !  Was  not  that  ? — no,  it  can't  be  ;  he 
is  not  here,"  while  she  looked  eagerly  after 
the  retreating  rider. 

Jean,  surprised,  had  halted  too,  and  had  a 
fleeting  vision  of  a  powerful  horse  flinging  out 
his  iron-shod  heels  in  vigorous  strides,  and  of 
a  fine  and  stately  figure,  sitting  easily  and 
well.  But  they  now  put  their  horses  in  mo- 
tion again,  Sylvia  vouchsafing  no  explana- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  145 

tion  beyond  the  unsatisfactory  remark:  "I 
fancied  it  was  an  old  friend — of  mamma's  and 
mine — but  I  must  be  mistaken,"  while  her 
heart  was  throbbing  fast  with  hopeful  antici- 
pation. 

Jean's  brougham  met  them  at  the  Porta 
Pia,  where  they  dismounted  and  drove  rapidly 
homeward  in  silence,  Jean  no  doubt  a  little 
curious,  and  Sylvia  in  a  happy  dream.  Mrs. 
Wyndham  lay  on  a  sofa  when  they  entered, 
and  Sylvia's  bright  face  fell  as  she  saw  how 
pale  and  suffering  she  looked. 

"Mother!"  she  cried,  with  a  sudden,  un- 
reasoning dread,  "  are  you  not  well  ?  What  is 
it?  Not  the  fever?" 

"Nothing,  my  child,  but  one  of  my  old 
attacks,"  said  Mrs.  Wyndham,  speaking  with 
difficulty.  "  More  painful  than  dangerous, 
only  I  can  not  go  out,  and  I  am  so  sorry  to 
deprive  you  of  your  ball  to-night.  Is  there 
no  one  with  whom  you  could  go?  The  Went- 
worths,  or — " 

"  Oh,  mother !  I  can't  leave  you,"  cried 
Sylvia,  adding,  with  a  sudden  remembrance  of 
some  strong  reason  she  had  for  wishing  to  go, 


146  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

"  At  least,  I  would  like  to  go  so  much,  but  not 
if  you  are  ill." 

"  My  sweet  child,"  said  Mrs.  Wyndham, 
drawing  the  bright  face  down  to  kiss  it  fondly. 
"  You  must  go  by  all  means.  I  never  saw  you 
look  so  pretty,  Sylvia.  I  wish  you  to  go. 
Think  of  some  one." 

"  So  that  the  public  may  be  convinced  that 
your  goose  is  really  a  swan ;  eh,  mamma, 
dear?"  laughed  Sylvia,  blushing  over  the 
motherly  compliment.  "  The  Wentworths 
are  four  already,"  she  went  on,  deliberat- 
ing. "  But,  mamma,  as  it  is  a  public  ball,  a 
charity  ball,  perhaps  Mrs.  Grandison  would 
take  your  ticket  and  go  with  me,  if  you  do  not 
mind." 

Mrs.  Wyndham  thought  rapidly  and  earnestly 
for  a  moment.  To  trust  her  child  to  Jean  on 
such  an  occasion  was  to  indorse  most  strongly 
a  woman  who  was  in  reality  an  absolute 
stranger  to  her,  but  in  addition  to  her  own 
increasing  liking  for  Jean,  was  her  confidence 
in  Sylvia's  instincts,  and  the  certainty  she  felt 
that  her  daughter's  friendship  for  Jean  would 
not  have  survived  the  test  of  the  long  visit  to 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  147 

Manycotes  had  Mrs.  Grandison  proved  in  the 
least  degree  unworthy  of  it. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  after  a  short  pause,  for  this 
considering  had  been  rapidly  done.  "  Go  and 
ask  Mrs.  Grandison.  Say  I  shall  be  much 
indebted  if  she  will  take  you." 

Can  it  be  doubted  that  Jean  received  this 
message  with  pride  and  pleasure?  "It  has 
come ! "  she  thought.  "  I  am  sought,  and 
valued — the  way  to  attain  is  open  to  me.  I 
shall  no  longer  be  ignored  and  of  no  import- 
ance." 

But  outwardly  she  was  rather  indifferent, 
parrying  Sylvia's  eager  entreaties  with  an 
amused  smile. 

"  My  dear  little  girl,"  she  said,  "  I  would 
like  to  be  of  service  to  you,  but  I  have  been  so 
long  out  of  the  way  of  these  things."  This 
statement,  at  least,  was  strictly  true. 

"  Oh  !  Mrs.  Grandison  !  "  cried  Sylvia.  "  Do 
not, pray  do  not  disappoint  me!  I  have  set 
my  heart  on  going  to  this  ball  with  the  hand- 
somest woman  in  Rome."  * 

"  Little  goose  !  "  said  Jean,  coloring  with 
pleasure,  while  Sylvia  interjected  ruefully, 


148  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

11  There !  I  told  mamma  her  swan  was  a 
goose." 

"Don't  think  to  win  me  by  flattery,"  went 
on  Jean,  pretending  to  be  perverse  and  say 
nay,  after  the  fashion  of  Juliet.  "  However,  I 
will  not  be  so  cruel  after  all  my  protestations, 
as  to  refuse  the  first  thing  you  have  ever  asked 
me.  I  suppose,"  she  added,  meditatively, 
"  that  the  gown  in  which  Forbes  painted  me 
would  do." 

"  Oh !  Mrs.  Grandison  !  you  are  always  per- 
fectly dressed.  Then  I  may  say  to  mamma 
that  you  will  go  ?  She  will  be  so  pleased." 

And,  after  a  caress  like  a  butterfly's  touch, 
Sylvia  danced  away,  radiant,  little  thinking 
that  she  left  the  outwardly  calm  Jean  in  an 
almost  equal  flutter  of  agitated  anticipation  of 
what  was  actually  her  first  ball. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  False  face  must  hide  what  the  false  heart  doth  know." 

NOW,  as  it  is  only  in  novels,  and  those  of  a 
somewhat  antiquated  pattern,  that  the 
lovely  but  unknown  heroine,  appearing  unher- 
alded in  a  ball-room,  finds  herself  at  once  the 
"  cynosure  of  all  eyes,"  besieged  for  dances, 
mobbed  by  admirers  and  exalted  in  a  single' 
evening  to  the  place  of  belle  of  the  season — it 
may  readily  be  believed  that  all  of  Jean's 
somewhat  sanguine  anticipations  were  not,  on 
this  occasion,  realized.  This,  her  first  ball, 
however,  did  play  a  sufficiently  important  part 
in  her  life,  and  the  honorable  secrecy  to  be 
observed  toward  the  reader  who  does  not  care 
to  have  the  pages  of  his  book  labeled  for  him, 
will  molt  no  feather,  if  the  leading  events  of 
the  night  are  here  set  down. 

That  Jean  would  look  well  was  a  foregone 
conclusion.  Excitement  was  life  to  her,  and 
she  knew  very  well  that  the  "  gown  in  which 


150  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

Forbes  had  painted  her  "  was  the  most  becom- 
ing she  could  put  on.  Sylvia's  perverse  pretti- 
ness,  however,  had  deserted  her ;  some  anxiety, 
openly  expressed,  for  her  mother's  health — 
some  secret  misgiving  lest,  after  all,  that  pass- 
ing glimpse  should  have  deceived  her  and  all 
she  hoped  of  the  ball  should  not  be  fulfilled, 
robbed  her  cheek  of  its  bloom,  and  in  spite  of 
a  charming  white  gown  en  style  Watteau, 
Sylvia  did  not  look  her  best. 

Ian  Forbes,  who  was  far  beyond  caring 
whether  Sylvia  looked  well  or  ill,  seeing  that, 
under  all  circumstances,  she  was  to  him  the 
sweetest  creature  the  sun  shone  on,  was  eagerly 
watching  for  her,  and  his  surprise  and  pleasure 
were  great  at  seeing  Jean — for  whom  he  had  a 
genuine  affection — with  her.  Kooystra,  who 
was  considered  so  "  odd "  that  nothing  he 
chose  to  do  excited  remark,  devoted  himself 
to  Jean  in  so  marked  a  manner  as  almost 
to  make  up  for  the  absence  of  those  eager 
suitors  and  awed  admirers  whom  Jean,  in 
her  visions,  had  seen  bowing  before  her.  His 
constant  presence  gave  her,  at  least,  a  pleasant 
sense  of  being  cared  for,  and  his  comment,  wise 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  151 

and  witty,  his  chronique  scandaleuse,  made  up 
the  best  part  of  what  was  almost  a  lonely 
evening.  A  few  fashionable  women  inquired 
who  the  woman  with  the  magnificent  riviere 
might  be,  for  Jean's  diamonds  not  having  had 
the  ill-luck  to  be  worn  with  crape,  had  emerged 
from  their  seclusion,  like  their  owner  from 
hers,  with  enhanced  brilliancy.  One  or  two  of 
Forbes'  friends,  more  observant  than  others, 
presently  made  the  discovery  that  the  stately 
woman  in  black  with  whom  he  was  talking 
was  the  original  of  his  "  Portrait  de  Mme.  G.," 
and  an  animated  discussion  of  this  attracted 
the  attention  of  a  lady  and  gentleman,  who, 
standing  in  a  window  recess  near  the  group, 
had  abandoned  their  conversational  attempts 
either  for  want  of  fuel  or  from  the  ease  of  inti- 
macy. That  the  latter  was  the  case  was  evi- 
dent from  the  glance  they  exchanged  as  the 
bit  of  gossipy  conjecture  reached  their  ears, 
and  the  lady  said  rather  eagerly  : 

"  Oh  !  I  was  so  very  pleased  with  that  pic- 
ture !  I  should  like  greatly  to  see  the  origi- 
nal." 

Her  companion,  a  tall  man,  whose  face  had 


I5«  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

lit  up  with  quite  unusual  animation,  answered 
with  equal  interest : 

"  Mrs.  Grandison  !  Yes,  I  am  almost  sure  I 
should  recognize  her.  Shall  we  cross  the 
floor,  duchess  ?  I  think  I  can  point  her  out 
to  you." 

The  duchess,  who  was  a  small,  pale,  dowdy 
woman,  with  a  singularly  pleasant  and  intel- 
lectual face,  took  his  offered  arm,  echoing  as 
they  moved  away  : 

"  Grandison !  do  you  say  ?  Ah  !  then  I 
believe  I  take  some  little  interest  in  her,  more 
than  mere  curiosity.  Hermione's  maid  lives 
with  her,  and  she  also  bought  her  horse,  Loki." 

The  duchess  rarely  mentioned  her  dead 
daughter,  but  this  was  an  old  and  dear  friend. 

"  I  wonder  what  Grandison  it  is  ?  "  he  said, 
musingly.  "  Do  you  happen  to  know  ?  " 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  the  duchess.  "  I  think 
I  remember — Saint  something — yes,  her  card 
was  Mrs.  E.  St.  George  Grandison." 

"Then,"  said  her  companion,  "I  also  am 
directly  interested,  for  I  believe  I  knew  her 
husband." 

Somewhat     later     in    the     evening,     Jean, 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  153 

amused,  contented,  enjoying  herself  in  spite 
of  not  having  made  the  sensation  she  had 
dreamed  of — with  Kooystra  beside  her  doing 
his  best  to  interest  her — saw  Sylvia  approach- 
ing, with  Ian  Forbes  beside  her,  and  leaning 
upon  the  arm  of  another  beau  cavalier. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Grandison,"  said  Sylvia,  stop- 
ping before  her.  "  Mr.  Forbes  and  I  are  quar- 
reling for  the  privilege  of  presenting  to  you 
our  old  friend,  Colonel  Yorke,  and  it  is  only  by 
an  appeal  to  the  place  aux  dames  principle  that 
I  have  been  able  to  secure  my  right." 

"  And  while  they  fall  out,"  said  Col.  Yorke, 
bowing  low,  "  I  reap  the  advantage." 

"  Like  a  neutral  nation  in  time  of  war,"  said 
Jean,  with  a  smile. 

"  What  a  bad  omen — for  my  peace  of 
mind,"  answered  Colonel  Yorke.  "Are  no 
more  auspicious  comparisons  to  be  found  for 
the  meeting  of  friendly  powers  ?" 

"  How  tiresome  similes  are  !  "  said  Sylvia,  half 
pettishly.  "  Pray  leave  off  fencing,  before  a 
battle  begins  in  earnest,  and  be  friends  at  once 
for  my  sake." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Jean,  extending  her  hand, 


154  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH, 

"  since  you  leave  us  the  option  of  being  ene- 
mies for  our  own  sakes." 

"  As  for  me,"  said  Kooystra,  suddenly,  "  I 
absolutely  decline  to  play  casus  belli  any 
longer." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Sylvia,  "  no  one  was  think- 
ing of  you." 

"  That's  precisely  it,"  retorted  Kooystra. 
"  I  object  to  being  forgotten,  as  the  original 
cause  of  a  war  always  is." 

There  was  a  general  laugh,  and  the  young 
people  moved  away,  leaving  Colonel  Yorke  at 
Jean's  side,  where  he  contentedly  remained 
until  some  suspicion  of  the  time  of  night 
roused  her  chaperonic  instincts.  Kooystra, 
hovering  in  Jean's  vicinity  with  a  curious, 
uneasy  persistency,  undertook  to  search  for 
Sylvia,  but  it  was  quite  half-an-hour  before 
that  elusive  young  lady  appeared,  leaning  on 
the  arm  of  a  tall  man  who  made  Jean  a  pro- 
found and  empresse  bow. 

It  was  Major  Limber. 

Jean,  no  longer  in  her  own  house,  felt  at 
liberty  to  behave  toward  him  as  she  felt,  and 
replied  by  a  scarcely  perceptible  inclination  of 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH,  155 

the  head,  and  Sylvia,  to  whom  he  had  repre- 
sented his  previous  acquaintance  with  her 
chaperone  in  the  bright  colors  of  a  rather  san- 
guine memory,  felt  a  shock  of  surprise.  Major 
Limber  himself,  furious,  felt  again  all  the  in- 
tense mortification  of  the  day  at  Manycotes : 
the  luncheon  barely  accorded  to  him  at  the 
dictate  of  hospitality,  the  promptness  with 
which  the  carriage  came  round,  that  he  should 
by  no  chance  miss  the  train,  the  evident  satis- 
faction with  which  his  departure  had  been 
accelerated.  In  his  role  of  fortune-hunter,  not 
so  very  lately  adopted,  Major  Limber  had  met 
with  many  rebuffs  ;  he  was  not  so  very  thin- 
skinned  ;  but  the  scarcely  veiled  contempt  of 
Jean's  manner  galled  him  inexpressibly.  He 
had  quickly  given  up  his  designs  upon  her,  but 
to  find  her  in  Rome,  ready  and  quite  able  to 
combat  his  latest  schemes,  was  too  infuriating. 
"  I  am  so  glad,"  said  Sylvia,  slipping  her 
hand  affectionately  into  Jean's  as  they  drove 
rapidly  homeward  through  the  narrow,  echoing 
streets,  "  that  you  like  Colonel  Yorke  !  " 


CHAPTER    XV. 

"Your  bait  of  falsehood  takes  this  carp  of  truth." 

THE  next  morning  the  excellent  Pritchett 
received  through  a  former  fellow-servant, 
a  request  to  wait  upon  the  Duchess  of  Saints- 
bury,  and  having  obtained  Jean's  permission, 
presented  herself  to  that  lady,  whose  apart- 
ments were  in  the  same  hotel,  at  the  appointed 
hour.  The  duchess,  a  quiet,  self-contained 
woman,  showed  little  of  the  emotion  she 
chokingly  felt  in  seeing  one  so  intimately 
associated  with  her  dead  daughter. 

"  I  hope  you  like  your  place,  Pritchett,"  she 
said,  after  some  brief  inquiries  as  to  health. 

"Thank  your  grace,"  said  Pritchett,  "I  am 
most  comfortable." 

"You  like  Mrs.  Grandison?" 

"  My  mistress  is  most  kind." 

The  duchess  hesitated.  It  was  against  all 
her  habits  and  traditions  to  question  a  servant, 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  157 

yet  she  saw  no  other  road  to  what  she  wished 
to  know ;  so,  after  some  hesitating  choice  of 
the  most  diplomatic  words  in  which  to  frame 
her  inquiries,  she  hurried  out  the  most  infelic- 
itous. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Grandison — ah — a  nice  person, 
Pritchett — a  lady,  I  mean.  Some  one  whom  I 
could  know? "she  said,  and  then  blushed  at 
the  snobbishness  of  the  speech. 

"Indeed — yes,  your  grace,"  answered  Pritch- 
ett eagerly,  her  tongue  loosed  at  once  by 
the  duchess'  embarrassment.  "  My  mistress  is 
quite  one  of  the  nicest  ladies  I  ever  lived  with. 
The  only  thing  I  can  say  against  her — is — she 
shuts  herself  up  too  much." 

"Ah!"  said  the  duchess,  relieved.  "She  is 
not  much  in  society,  perhaps." 

"  It's  her  own  choice,"  said  the  faithful 
Pritchett,  eagerly.  "  Every  one  wishes  and 
begs  her  to  go  out — and  she  knows  none 
but  the  very  nicest  people,"  with  unconscious 
exaggeration.  "  But  she  seemed  very  unwilling 
to  leave  off  her  mourning  and  give  up  her  quiet 
way  of  life.  'Twas  only  to  please  Miss  Wynd- 
ham,  as  coaxed  her  very  hard,  that  she  went 


158  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

to  the  ball  last  night.  Did  your  grace  happen 
to  see  her  there  ?  " 

"  Miss  Wyndham,  I  suppose,  was  that  pretty- 
ladylike  girl  in  white?  Yes — I  saw  them — 
your  mistress  is  very  handsome." 

"  She  has  beautiful  gowns,  and  very  'ansome 
diamonds,"  said  Pritchett,  with  professional 
enthusiasm.  "  Did  your  grace  'appen  to  re- 
mark the  jewels?  " 

"  I  did  notice  a  necklace  of  very  fine  stones," 
said  the  duchess  indifferently,  though  she  had 
nothing  among  her  family  jewels  half  so  fine. 
"Mrs.  Grandison  must  be  very  rich." 

"  I  couldn't  say,  madam,  how  rich,"  said  the 
cautious  Pritchett,  "  because  she  lives  so  very 
quiet  and  doesn't  entertain.  At  Manycotes 
she  had  only  maids  in  the  'ouse ;  but  she  'as 
beautiful  carriages  and  horses,  and  a  great 
many  more  diamonds  than  she  could  possibly 
wear  at  once,  besides  other  jewels  and  horna- 
ments,  and  every  thing  'andsome  about  her," 
concluded  Pritchett,  unconsciously  plagiarizing. 

"Manycotes?  What  is  that?"  asked  the 
duchess. 

"That's    my  mistress'    place    in    Somerset. 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  159 

Tis  very  small,  but  kept  beautiful.  And  her 
little  town-house  in  Hay  Hill,  which  is  let.  I 
was  through  it  myself  when  my  mistress  was 
having  it  done  up,  and  it  is  perfect." 

"  But  you  say  she  has  very  few  visitors,"  said 
the  duchess. 

"Very  few  indeed,  your  grace.  Last  winter, 
which  we  spent  it  in  Paris,  while  Mr.  Forbes 
and  the  Dutch  gentleman — as  I  can't  remember 
his  name — were  painting  'er  portraits,  she  saw 
no  one  but  Miss  Wyndham  and  the  two  gentle- 
men, and  them  never  alone.  Miss  Wyndham 
was  always  there." 

"Ah!"  said  the  duchess.  "I  like  Mrs. 
Grandison's  appearance  very  much,  and  I  am 
pleased  to  hear  you  are  with  such  a  nice  per- 
son. Thank  you,  Pritchett,  and  that  will  do." 

Thus  dismissed,  Pritchett  courtesied  and 
retired,  having  satisfied  the  duchess'  curiosity 
and  given  an  account  of  her  mistress  which 
was  strictly  true,  very  misleading,  and  which 
conveyed  the  precise  impressipn  which  Jean 
desired  to  produce. 

The  immediate  consequence  of  the  interview 
was  that  Jean,  in  one  of  her  rare  appearances  in 


160  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

the  salon,  was  waylaid  by  the  duchess,  who  in- 
troduced herself  in  a  most  flattering  manner 
and  made  minute  inquiries  whether  she  were 
pleased  with  Loki  and  Pritchett. 

"Was  your  husband  one  of  the  Kentish 
Grandisons  or  the  Yorkshire  family,  Mrs. 
Grandison  ?  "  she  presently  inquired,  with  that 
air  of  amiably  taking  an  interest  in  you  which 
is  supposed  to  be  flattering.  Jean,  whose  fears 
had  long  since  gone  out  to  meet  this  question, 
was  able  to  answer  with  sufficient  calmness. 

"  They  are  Yorkshire  people,"  she  said. 
"  Grandison  of  Temple  Grandison  and  Danes- 
fort." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  duchess.  "  Pretty  places  I 
believe.  I  know  the  other  Grandisons,  the 
Kentish  ones.  There  is  a  distant  connection  I 
think." 

Jean  felt  a  thrill  of  relief,  but  feeling  the 
necessity  of  stemming  the  tide  of  questions, 
took  a  bold  step. 

"  I  do  not  know  Mr.  Grandison's  family," 
she  said,  in  a  voice  which  trembled  slightly. 
The  call  upon  her  courage  and  self-control  gave 
a  certain  haughtiness  to  her  manner,  which  the 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  161 

duchess  interpreted — not  at  all  to  her  disad- 
vantage, as  the  sign  of  some  resentment  which 
Jean  had  a  perfect  right  to  entertain,  and  so, 
not  to  appear  intrusive,  quitted  the  subject,  and 
presently  left  her  with  a  gracious  intimation 
that  she  did  not  intend  to  let  their  acquaintance 
drop. 

More  remote  consequences  made  themselves 
manifest  from  day  to  day.  A  handsome  widow, 
who  wore  superb  diamonds  and  had  the  pret- 
tiest turn-out  in  Rome,  and  who,  moreover,  was 
often  seen  in  familiar  converse  with  an  indis- 
putable duchess,  must  be  a  person  to  know. 
The  embassy  of  her  native  land  returned  her 
call  with  much  empressement,  the  embassy  of 
the  duchess'  country  contrived  to  meet  her, 
and  adopted  her,  "on  her  late  husband's 
account."  The  "  best  "  people  sought,  in  all 
legitimate  ways,  to  become  acquainted  with 
her,  and  but  few  weeks  went  by  before  Jean 
found  herself  "  in  the  swim  "  and  entirely  with- 
out fears  of  harm  from  the  iron  pots  among 
which  she  was  gayly  bobbing  down-stream. 

The  magic  influence  of  the  Duchess  of 
Saintsbury's  friendship  did  not  end  here, 


1 62  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

though  the  duchess  herself  went  southward 
at  the  New  Year.  But  before  she  left  she  had 
learned  that  Jean  meant  to  return  to  America 
and  to  establish  herself  for  always  in  her  native 
land ;  also  that  Jean  did  not  know  any  of  the 
duchess'  many  American  friends. 

"  I  have  been  so  long  a  wanderer,"  said  Jean, 
in  her  soft,  regretful  tones.  "  My  poor  mother 
was  such  an  invalid  and  led  a  secluded  life  even 
when  we  were  at  home.  My  girlhood  was  all 
passed  abroad.  There  is  nothing  to  draw  me 
back — no  ties,  no  attraction.  But  I  can  not 
cease  to  feel  myself  an  American — and  it  seems 
to  me  a  duty  not  to  expatriate  myself  and  for- 
feit my  birthright." 

These  admirable  sentiments  pleased  the 
duchess  greatly,  and  Colonel  Yorke,  who  was 
of  the  conversation,  bestowed  on  Jean  one  of 
the  approving  smiles  which  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  giving  Sylvia,  but  which  afterward  struck 
him  as  rather  a  puerile  offering  for  this  stately 
woman  of  the  world.  Jean  was  not  too  much 
absorbed  by  the  duchess  to  fail  to  observe  how 
handsome  he  looked  when  he  smiled,  but  she 
could  spare  little  time  for  this  reflection  from 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  163 

the  graver  issues  in  hand.  For  the  duchess,  a 
woman  of  strong  convictions  and  very  patriotic 
herself,  was  much  pleased  with  this  somewhat 
unusual  manifestation  of  Americanism,  which 
won  her  much  more  than  any  attempt  Jean 
could  have  made  to  identify  herself  with  her 
husband's  country;  and  she  was  now  offering 
to  Jean  letters  of  introduction  to  two  of  the 
friends  who  had  entertained  her  so  kindly  in 
America,  and  who  kept  her  so  constantly  re- 
minded of  their  continuing  affection  that  she 
could  not  doubt  the  welcome  they  would 
extend  to  any  friend  of  hers.  Sweet  Sylvia 
Wyndham,  taking  to  herself  much  credit  for 
Jean's  auspicious  first  appearance,  was  de- 
lighted with  her  subsequent  success.  Mrs. 
Wyndham  had  been  glad  to  cede  her  duties  as 
chaperone,  and  they  went  out  a  great  deal 
together,  yet  for  some  reason  they  were  not 
as  intimate  as  they  had  been.  It  could  not 
be  said  that  any  coolness  existed  between  them  ; 
there  was  no  jealousy  in  Sylvia's  sweet  nature, 
of  the  unvarying  beauty  which  so  constantly 
outshone  the  young  girl's  fitful  prettiness  ;  and 
Jean  loved  to  see  her  gay,  admired,  surrounded. 


1 64  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

Still,  though  their  days  were  spent  much  alike, 
in  that  busy  idleness  of  the  Roman  pleasure- 
seeker,  a  distance  had  grown  between.  Jean, 
in  Kooystra's  company,  or  with  Colonel 
Yorke's  thoughtful  comments,  had  fallen  into 
the  spirit  of  the  place,  studying  lovingly  the 
art  which  Sylvia  seemed  to  have  forgotten. amid 
the  assiduities  of  Major  Limber  and  Ian  Forbes* 
hopeless  faithfulness  ;  and  Sylvia's  conscience, 
pricking  her  for  her  neglect,  drove  her  willfully 
in  the  wrong  direction. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  It  has  been  said,  that  men  love  with  their  eyes,  women 
with  their  ears." 

AN  Americanized  Englishman  does,  as  a 
rule,  one  of  two  things.  He  retains  his 
prejudices  and  his  insularity,  enlarging  the 
latter  to  correspond  with  the  size  of  the  great 
country  he  has  adopted :  or  he  becomes  more 
aggressively  American  than  the  Americans, 
affiliating  himself  to  the  wild  Western  type, 
grafting  the  accent  of  the  cowboy  upon  his 
native  drawl,  and  delighting  in  that  picturesque, 
if  startling,  use  of  language  which  constitutes 
"  American  slang." 

Keppel  Yorke,  before  naturalizing  himself  in 
America,  was  already  too  cosmopolitan  to  fall 
into  either  of  these  classes.  He  had  long 
ceased  to  be  conspicuously  Brit'ish,  retaining 
nothing  of  his  birthright  save  the  inflections  of 
a  singularly  pleasant  voice  ;  and  the  tastes  of  a 
litterateur  and  man  of  the  world,  which  had 


1 66  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

demanded  a  wider  horizon  and  greater  pecuni- 
ary resources,  had  not  lost  their  sway  during 
necessary  sojourns  on  ranches  and  in  the  un- 
cultured neighborhood  of  silver  mines.  They 
had  survived  the  chances  and  changes  of  an 
adventurous  and  wandering  life,  which  had  left 
him  such  an  unusual  number  of  illusions  of 
youth,  as,  upon  reflection,  surprised  even  him- 
self. He  was  continually  believing  in  women 
up  to  a  certain  point,  and  as  continually  being 
disappointed ;  but  disappointment  had  so  far 
failed  to  shake  that  belief  in  himself  which  is 
at  the  bottom  of  human  happiness.  In  person 
he  was  that  delight  of  lady-novelists,  an  ugly 
handsome  man  ;  not  noticeably  taller  than  other 
men,  yet  appearing  to  advantage  among  them 
and  beside  a  stately  woman  like  Jean.  His 
dark  hair  was  slightly  gray  and  furtively  re- 
treating from  a  fine  brow  ;  his  eyes,  brown  and 
rather  close  together,  were  gentle  and  pene- 
trating, and  a  thick  brownish-red  beard  kept 
the  secret  of  whatever  weakness  mouth  and 
chin  might  have  revealed. 

To  a  pessimist  like  Jean,  who,  to   the  belief 
Kooystra  had   once  expressed  that  no  one  is 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  167 

happy  after  forty,  added  her  private  conviction 
that  few  are  happy  before,  it  was  an  era  to  meet 
a  man  like  Colonel  Yorke,  who  had  lived  a 
full  life  for  these  fatal  forty  years  and  more 
and  who  yet  looked  upon  the  world,  if  not  as 
the  best  of  all  possible  worlds,  at  least  as  a  very 
tolerable  abiding-place,  and  as  making  satisfac- 
tory progress  toward  perfection.  It  was  a 
change  from  Kooystra's  fitful  alternations  of 
irresponsible  high  spirits  and  moods  of  callow 
cynicism,  from  Forbes'  growing  despondency, 
and  from  Sylvia's  buoyant  spirits,  which  Jean 
felt  to  be  the  mere  evanescent  characteristic  of 
her  youth. 

And  yet  it  could  not  be  said  that  Jean  and 
Colonel  Yorke  had  become  friends.  At  the 
end  of  three  months  they  were  still  upon  the 
footing  of  mere  acquaintance,  though  they  met 
often  and  were  cordially  inclined  toward  each 
other.  Mrs.  Wyndham  had  been  Colonel 
Yorke's  first  friend  in  America,  her  small,  simple 
home  had  welcomed  him  with  unpretentious 
hospitality.  Sylvia  had  made  much  of  him, 
after  the  fashion  of  an  enthusiastic  girl  thrown 
for  the  first  time  with  a  clever  and  cultivated 


1 68  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

man  older  than  herself.  And  now,  meeting 
these  kind  friends  of  the  old  days,  in  Rome, 
he  felt  himself  at  home  with  them,  and  privi- 
leged to  come  and  go  as  he  pleased. 

But  whether  it  were  that  Sylvia,  in  her  newly- 
widened  experience,  had  found  others  as 
attractive  as  Colonel  Yorke  had  once  seemed, 
or  that  the  increasing  number  of  her  admirers 
had  crowdedhim  out  of  his  place  in  her  favor 
— their  frank  friendship  appeared  at  an  end. 
He  came  and  went  as  he  had  done  in  the 
American  home,  but  Sylvia  no  longer  confided 
to  him  her  dreams  and  hopes,  nor  appealed  for 
the  advice  which  it  is  sweetest  flattery  to  see 
followed. 

As  for  Jean,  she  had  not  yet  sufficiently 
overcome  her  long  habits  of  reserve  and  diffi- 
dence, well  dissembled  but  still  powerful,  to 
make  advances  toward  intimacy  with  any  one 
of  more  pretention  than  the  boyish  artists  with 
whom  much  companionship  had  placed  her 
entirely  at  her  ease. 

So  Colonel  Yorke's  visits  seemed  entirely 
to  belong  to  Mrs.  Wyndham,  as  his  most  assid- 
uous attention  certainly  did,  while  both  Jean 


THE   WHOLE   TRUTH.  169 

and  Sylvia  played  the  part  of  attentive,  appre- 
ciative, but  rather  unresponsive  listeners,  on 
whom  the  enunciation  of  Colonel  Yorke's  well- 
expressed  ideas  produced  little  visible  effect. 
It  may  be  questioned,  however,  whether  the 
small  and  backward  plant  of  Jean's  patriotism 
had  not  expanded  and  blossomed  in  the  brac- 
ing air  of  Colonel  Yorke's  enthusiasm  for 
America. 

As  for  Sylvia,  the  possession  of  an  intimate 
friend  in  Jean  might  have  accounted  for  much 
of  the  distance  which  now  -divided  her  from 
Colonel  Yorke,  had  it  not  been  for  the  daily 
increasing  reserve  she  displayed  toward  Jean. 
Mrs.  Wyndham  regretted  this  estrangement, 
for  her  liking  for  Jean  was  quietly  sincere. 
Jean  felt  it  keenly,  puzzling  her  memory  for 
the  word  or  act  which  might  have  wounded  her, 
and  watching  wistfully  for  the  opportunity  of 
being  again  at  one  .with  this  her  first  friend. 

Sylvia,  suffering  also  from  their  unexplained 
coolness,  knew  that  in  some  dark  corner  of  her 
heart  the  reason  was  waiting  to  be  questioned, 
and  willfully  ignored  its  presence. 

One   glorious    March   day  they    had  driven 


170  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

together  to  a  meet  of  the  fox-hounds  at  Sette 
Celli ;  they  had  seen  the  fox  arrive  on  a  gray 
pony,  his  bright  eyes  peering  at  them  through 
the  chinks  in  his  wicker  basket  ;  had  seen  the 
amiable  brigand  in  pointed  hat  and  long,  green- 
lined  cloak  who  handled  both  pony  and  bas- 
ket, ride  away  to  enlarge  the  fox  at  a  dis- 
tance ;  had  seen  the  hounds  laid  on,  after 
due  "  law  "  had  been  allowed,  the  riders  take 
the  field  ;  and  at  last  had  started  homeward  by 
an  adventurous  round-about  way  across  the 
Campagna,  which  brought  them  out  on  the  Via 
Appia  just  beyond  the  Metella  tomb.  Along 
this  road  they  were  bowling  swiftly  away  from 
Rome  ;  the  little  black  horses,  driven  without 
bits,  in  the  Roman  fashion,  the  reins  being 
attached  to  a  brass  bar  across  their  noses — step- 
ping as  swiftly,  with  the  light  victoria  at  their 
heels,  as  if  they  had  just  left  their  stable. 

Jean  and  Sylvia  rode  in  silence,  the  elder 
woman  furtively  watching  the  girl's  face,  who 
sat  gazing  pensively  across  the  great,  green 
undulating  plain  over  which  their  road  led. 
The  cheek  turned  toward  Jean  \vas  a  little 
pale,  the  mouth  had  a  wistful  droop,  and  some- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  I? I 

thing  in  the  glimpse  of  lid  and  eyelash  sug- 
gested eyes  full  of  unshed  tears. 

"  It  has  been  a  happy  winter,"  said  Jean,  at 
last,  turning  her  eyes  upon  the  freshening 
green,  the  new  thick-springing  flowers,  and  all 
the  signs  of  spring. 

"  Yes,"  said  Sylvia,  turning  to  Jean  with  a 
smile  as  uncertain  as  the  shadow  of  a  cloud 
flying  far  across  the  purple  hills.  "  Or,  no  !  I 
hardly  know  which.  In  some  ways  it  has  been 
most  delightful — in  so  many  ways  most  disap- 
pointing." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Jean,  rather  sadly,  "  it  is 
because  I  have  learned  to  expect  nothing  from 
life,  that  I  have  enjoyed  these  months  so 
much.  Good-fortune  has  smiled  upon  me  for 
the  first  time.  I  have  never  been  so  happy 
before.  I  came,  only  thinking  to  wear  out 
another  dull  winter,  like  all  that  have  gone 
before,  making  it  less  forlorn  by  being  near 
you  and  your  mother."  This  was  not  strictly 
true,  but  Jean  believed  it  for  the  moment.  "  I 
fancied  you  would  be  too  much  engrossed  to 
be  much  with  me.  I  little  hoped  for  such  a 
winter  as  I  have  spent." 


172  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

"  Have  I  not  often  told  you,"  said  Sylvia, 
fondly,  "  you  were  never  meant  to  shut  your- 
self up.  The  life  of  such  a  woman  as  you  are  is 
owed  to  society ;  you  have  no  right  to  rob  it." 

"  Little  flatterer,"  said  Jean,  "what  would 
my  winter  have  been  without  you  ?  And  now, 
my  Sylvia,  I  hear  you  sigh — you  speak  of  dis- 
appointment. How  it  grieves  me !  Tell  me, 
Sylvia,  what  can  I — what  may  I  do  ?  " 

Sylvia's  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  said,  faltering.  "  If  it  depended 
on  you,  dear  Mrs.  Grandison,  I  should  be  hap- 
pier than  I  deserve.  It  is  my  own  fault- 
partly — no !  altogether.  Oh  !  why  have  I 
wasted  my  winter !  "  she  cried,  with  what 
seemed  distress.  "  I  meant  to  live  for  my  art 
alone !  And  here,  for  a  little  gayety,  a  little 
pleasure,  and  dancing,  I  have  deserted  it !  Oh  ! 
it  is  my  own  fault !  " 

"Art  is  a  gentle  mistress,"  said  Jean  gravely, 
looking  earnestly  at  her.  "  Neglect  does  not 
estrange  her.  But  this  is  not  all,  dear  Sylvia  ; 
there  is  something  else,  tell  me." 

Her  voice  was  infinitely  soft  and  persuasive  ; 
Sylvia's  eyes  met  hers  in  eloquent,  mute  con- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  173 

fession,  and  were  quickly  turned  away,  as  if, 
even  without  words,  they  might  tell  too  much. 

"  Dear  child,"  said  Jean,  with  a  tightening 
of  the  chords  of  her  own  throat ;  then  hastily 
glanced  about  to  see  if  she  might  say  more  ; 
but  they  had  turned  and  were  rapidly  ap- 
proaching the  city  gates.  San  Paolo  fuori  le 
Murawas  in  sight  ;  some  carriages  and  a  horse- 
man were  coming  toward  them,  and  it  was 
with  a  complete  change  of  tone  and  manner 
that  Jean  went  on  : 

"  Relieve  my  mind  on  one  point,  Sylvia — tell 
me — oh  !  assure  me  that  it  is  not  Major  Lim- 
ber." 

She  spoke  lightly,  but  in  her  heart  she  felt 
afraid  ;  she  dreaded  to  think  what  strides  he 
might  have  made  in  these  weeks  when  she  had 
been  comparatively  little  with  Sylvia.  But 
Sylvia's  tone  was  as  light  as  her  own,  though 
her  voice  trembled. 

"Accept  my  solemn  assurances,  to  the  best 
of  my  knowledge  and  belief,  it  is  not  Major 
Limber!  " 

They  both  laughed,  Jean  with  a  wonderful 
sense  of  relief ;  and  in  a  moment  Sylvia  added, 


174  THE   WHOLE    TRUTH. 

telling  one  of  those  gratuitous,  unaccountable 
untruths  which  spring  to  the  lips  of  the  truest 
woman  at  such  times  :  "  It  is  no  one  here." 

"  You  take  a  weight  from  my  heart,"  replied 
Jean.  "  Here  comes  Colonel  Yorke  ;  how  well 
he  rides ! " 

Sylvia  was  conquering  a  laugh  which  was 
half  a  sob,  and  did  not  answer  at  once,  but  she 
turned  her  face  with  its  accustomed  smile  to 
Colonel  Yorke  and  talked  gayly  to  him  as  he 
rode  beside  the  carriage  until  it  entered  the 
narrow  and  tortuous  streets  which  lead  from 
the  Porta  San  Sebastiano  to  the  Corso. 

"  The  child  is  in  love,"  Jean  was  thinking 
to  herself,  entirely  disregarding  the  last  state- 
ment, of  which,  as  a  woman,  she  was  quite 
able  to  estimate  the  value.  "  And  if  not  with 
Major  Limber,  I  wonder  with  whom.  Forbes 
it  can  not  be;  he  is  too  openly  her  slave  to 
leave  room  for  doubts  and  fears.  Can  it  be 
that  incomprehensible  boy,  Kooystra  ?  He  is 
ugly,  but  attractive  in  his  way,  and  so  odd — he 
might  conceal  a  genuine  passion  under  that 
insouciant  manner.  And  so  proud — her  money 
would  keep  him  silent." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

"  Thou  wouldst  as  soon  go  kindle  fire  with  snow, 
As  seek  to  quench  the  fire  of  love  with  words." 

JEAN  pondered  long  on  this  point,  and 
became  more  and  more  convinced  of  the 
correctness  of  her  conjecture.  Nothing  else 
seemed  at  all  probable,  and  like  every  one 
with  a  preconceived  conviction,  each  little 
incident  seemed  to  her  confirmation  strong. 
That  Kooystra  was  more  silent  and  thoughtful 
than  his  wont,  that  he  spent  every  available 
hour  with  Jean — "  I  am  not  the  rose,"  she 
thought,  "  but  I  have  been  near  the  rose," — 
that  he  lavished  upon  her  the  attentions  it 
seemed  natural  to  suppose  he  would  offer 
Sylvia;  nothing,  in  Jean's  eyes,  but  went  to 
prove  her  hypothesis. 

Some  days  after,  Kooystra  spent  a  rainy 
afternoon  in  Jean's  salon,  where  the  two  young 
men  made  themselves  much  at  home,  coming 
and  going  as  they  chose,  idling  about  over 


176  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

books  or  music,  and  talking  or  not,  as  they  felt 
inclined.  Paul  was  in  an  unusually  sunshiny 
mood,  content,  apparently,  with  himself  and 
his  fortunes,  and  even,  for  a  wonder,  with 
the  good-fortune  of  others,  and  Jean,  having 
gently  scolded  him  for  his  idleness,  without 
disturbing  his  equanimity,  felt  that  the  moment 
was  propitious. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  began,  "  I  do  not  think 
you  have  treated  us  hospitably,  you  and  Mr. 
Forbes." 

"  No  !  "  cried  Kooystra.  "What  a  reproach  ! 
How  distressed  I  am  that  you  should  have  it 
to  say  of  us  !  But  it  is  all  Forbes'  fault  ;  he  is 
a  hermit.  My  palace  and  baronial  halls  are  a 
sus  pies.  I  hereby  invite  you  to  reign  over 
them.  But  Forbes  !  how  can  I  reinstate  him 
in  your  good  graces  ?  " 

"Why,"  said  Jean,  only  perfunctorily  smil- 
ing,"for  she  took  every  thing  au  serieux,  and  her 
comprehension  was  apt  to  lag  far  behind  even 
the  halting  jokes  which  Sylvia  and  Kooystra 
seemed  to  find  so  delicious.  "  We  are  told  that 
you  have  a  characteristic  Roman  studio  some- 
where in  a  very  picturesque  part  of  the  town." 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  177 

"  Piazza.  Sta  Maria  del  Pianto,"  suggested 
Kooystra. 

" — Yet  Sylvia  and  I,"  went  on  Jean,  "  who 
came  to  Rome  dreaming  of  studios,  have  never 
been  asked  to  see  it." 

"  Well,  if  a  dirty  attic  with  a  tile  floor  is  a 
characteristic  Roman  studio,"  said  Kooystra, 
with  a  laugh,  "we  certainly  have  one,  and 
you  and  Miss  Wyndham  will  be  as  welcome 
there  —  as  winter  sunshine  —  an  expression 
which  I  consider  vastly  superior  to  '  flowers 
in  May.'  It  has  never  occurred  to  us  that  it 
was  worth  showing  to  any  one.  But  I  sup- 
pose," he  went  on  saucily,  looking  Sylvia,  who 
at  this  moment  entered  the  room,  full  in  the 
face,  "  I  suppose  you  have  the  usual  woman's 
craving  for  '  Bohemianism  '  and  '  unconven- 
tionality.'  I  am  convinced  Miss  Wyndham 
here,  only  became  an  artist  in  hopes  of  spend- 
ing every  evening  at  the  Caffe'  Greco  and 
smoking  a  short  black  pipe." 

"  In  fact,"  said  Sylvia  calmly,  "I  cherished  a 
hope  of  becoming  a  sort  of  M.  Kooystra  in 
petticoats,  until  I  found  you  deteriorate  so, 
on  close  acquaintance ! "  Jean  looked  astonish- 


1 78  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

ment.  These  two  young  people  in  their  chaff- 
ing mood  were  incomprehensible  to  her,  but 
Kooystra  turned  to  her,  and  with  a  total 
change  of  tone  extended  an  invitation  to  spend 
an  evening  of  the  following  week  at  the  world- 
famous  studio  of  MM.  Forbes  and  Kooystra 
— which  Jean  accepted  with  the  proviso  that 
Major  Limber  should  not  be  asked. 

"  Major  Limber,  indeed  !  "  said  Kooystra.  "  I 
hope  I  am  not  so  lost  to  all  sense  of  the  fitness 
of  things." 

There  was  a  little  more  banter  and  then 
Kooystra  left,  putting  his  head  in  at  the  door 
to  inquire  whether  the  supper  was  to  be  a 
characteristic  one,  too,  in  which  case  it  must 
consist  of  Chianti,  salsiccia&a&formaggio,  eaten 
in  an  atmosphere  of  smoke  thick  enough  to  cut 
with  a  knife. 

In  due  time  the  invitations  came,  daintily 
sketched  on  leaves  of  the  vellum  in  which 
Roman  books  are  bound  :  quaint  emanations 
of  Kooystra's  whimsical  fancy,  each  varied  to 
suit  the  tastes  of  the  recipient.  Jean  was  seen 
between  her  dog  and  her  horse.  Sylvia's  sweet 
face  looked  out  from  amid  clouds  of  smoke 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  179 

on  which  appeared  shadowy  visions  of  artists' 
life  in  Rome.  Sylvia  herself,  cigarette  in 
mouth,  hob-nobbing  with  impossibly  beautiful 
and  brigandish  artists  at  the  Greco,  or  sketch- 
ing ideal  peasants,  or  presiding  over  the  Spring 
Festa  of  the  artists,  in  a  bewitching  costume 
of  Folly. 

It  was  such  a  jest  as  is  only  possible  between 
friends  who  thoroughly  understand  each  other, 
but  to  Jean,  with  her  utter  lack  of  humor,  the 
daring  and  the  audacity  of  the  thing  seemed 
only  possible  on  one  hypothesis.  Her  theory, 
pretty  firmly  fixed  by  this  time,  was  strength- 
ened, on  the  legal  principle  of  "  cy-pres,"  by 
Mrs.  Wyndham's  invitation.  She  could  not 
understand  the  feeling  with  which  this  mother- 
less boy  regarded  the  sweet-natured,  tender 
woman,  who  seemed  to  him  the  embodiment 
of  motherhood.  Her  own  experience  had  not 
prepared  her  for  such  loving  recognition  of  a 
type,  and  she  fancied  it  was  only  as  Sylvia's 
mother  that  he  had  drawn  her,  in  a  sort  of  apo- 
theosis of  mother  love. 

Mrs.  Wyndham  had  had  a  happy  youth,  and 
the  sorrows  of  later  years  had  not  made  her 


t8o  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

forget  that  she  had  ever  been  young,  but  had 
given  her  the  conviction  that  young  people 
should  be  happy  at  all  costs.  This  conviction 
she  brought  to  bear  on  Sylvia's  life,  thinking 
no  sacrifice  too  great  or  too  small  to  sweeten 
and  beautify  it.  To  use  Sylvia's  own  words, 
she  preferred  her  mother  to  any  other  chap- 
erone,  because  she  never  told  her  it  was  time 
to  go  home.  A  sense  of  this  tenderness,  this 
impulse  of  love  and  protection  drew  every 
creature  toward  the  pale  lady  on  her  couch, 
and  as,to  Sylvia,  no  day  was  complete  without 
a  few  minutes  in  the  vast  peace  of  St.  Peter's, 
so  Forbes,  Kooystra,  and  even  Colonel  Yorke 
sought  Mrs.  Wyndham's  presence  as  a  sort  of 
refuge  against  the  cares  which  infest  the  day, 
and  Jean  felt,  without  realizing  it,  the  soften- 
ing influence  of  her  character. 

On  Wednesday  evening,  at  nine  o'clock, 
Jean  and  Sylvia  found  themselves  in  the 
brougham,  rolling  rapidly  through  the  narrow, 
echoing  streets  toward  the  Piazza  Sta  Maria 
del  Pianto.  Their  hosts  met  them  at  the  door 
of  the  Cortile,  and  escorted  them  up  the  long 
flights  of  stone  stairs,  which  were  unusually 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  181 

clean,  and  were  lighted,  by  their  care  and  con- 
trivance, with  paper  lanterns  on  every  flight. 

"And  now,"  said  Kooystra,  with  a  mis- 
chievous look,  as  they  at  last  reached,  after  a 
weary  climb,  a  green  door  over  which  the 
names  of  the  two  young  men  were  scrawled, 
"  Now  for  a  characteristic  Roman  studio." 

They  entered,  and  were  obliged  to  acknowl- 
edge that  the  large  room  with  its  wide  north 
window,  was  at  the  top  of  the  house,  and  had  a 
tiled  floor;  beyond  this  there  was  little  coinci- 
dence with  Kooystra's  description.  There  was 
a  deep  fireplace  in  which  sticks  of  wood  placed 
on  end  blazed  merrily,  and  the  room  was  filled 
with  the  soft  light  of  the  pretty  fluted  candles 
peculiar  to  Rome,  which  Forbes  had  insisted 
upon  substituting  for  the  antique  lamps  upon 
which  Kooystra  had  set  his  heart.  Ropes  of 
smilax  wreathed  the  sketches  on  the  walls,  and 
a  picture  on  Forbes'  easel,  a  woman's  head, 
dark,  noble  and  severe,  but  all  these  evidences 
of  industry  were  on  one  side  of  the  studio. 
On  Kooystra's  side  was  only  the  Valkyr-like 
portrait  of  Jean,  unframed  and  unadorned. 

Jean  and  Sylvia  laid  aside  their  wraps,  look- 


1 82  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

ing  about  them  with  eyes  eager  to  be  pleased, 
and  the  young  men  hung  about  them,  their 
hearts  stirred  with  the  strange,  sweet  thrill 
no  man  can  help  but  feel  who  sees  for  the  first 
time  the  woman  he  loves,  not  at  her  fireside, 
but  his  own.  Colonel  Yorke,  watching  the 
"young  people"  from  the  vantage  ground  of 
his  forty  years,  envying  them  their  youth  and 
promise  and  freshness  of  feeling,  thought,  with 
a  sigh,  that  were  he  but  a  few  years  younger 
he  should  be  puzzled  which  to  woo :  Sylvia, 
with  her  changeful  charm  of  coloring  and 
expression,  or  Jean,  of  the  gracious  and  stately 
beauty  and  serene  reserve.  But  neither  senti- 
ment nor  music  were  to  be  trie  food  of  love 
this  evening.  Kooystra  was  in  his  maddest 
mood  ;  he  followed  with  mischievous  mocking 
comment  as  Sylvia  moved  about  the  room,  in 
the  way  women  have  where  they  feel  at  ease  : 
touching,  examining,  admiring  this  and  that, 
and  rendering  forever  sacred— to  one  at  least, 
the  commonplace  properties  of  his  'daily  life. 
She  had  circled  about  and  politely  tried  to 
ignore  a  table  somewhat  ostentatiously  set 
forth  with  every  requisite  of  porcelain,  glass, 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  183 

and  silver,  until,  with  a  shriek  of  delighted 
laughter,  she  suddenly  discovered  the  nature 
of  the  feast. 

This  consisted  of  hard-boiled  eggs  and  slices 
of  "  salsiccia  "  cunningly  fashioned,  as  Roman 
workmen  know  how,  from  giallo  and  breccia 
and  variously  colored  marbles,  spoils  of  ruined 
Rome ;  of  heaped  up  grapes  whose  purple 
translucence  had  been  gathered  where  ame- 
thysts grow,  and  shaped  into  the  pretty  paper- 
weights Italian  travelers  remember;  and  fur- 
ther, of  roses  and  smilax,  windflowers  and  vio- 
lets, and  nothing  more. 

"The  characteristic  supper !"  cried  Sylvia 
"  How  delicious!  No  wonder  the  poor  fellows 
are  so  thin." 

Even  Jean,  who  lacked  that  sense  of  the 
ridiculous,  which,  next  to  true  religion  and  a 
good  digestion,  is  the  best  shield  against  the 
ills  of  life,  could  not  but  join  in  the  merriment 
which  followed  this  discovery. 

"How  nice  it  is  to  be  entertained  !"  said 
Sylvia,  sinking  into  an  easy  chair  before  the 
fire.  "  Go  on,  gentlemen  j  amuse  us.  We 
have  been  hostesses  so  much  it  is  a  treat 


184  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

to  feel  that  some  one  else  is  responsible 
now." 

"Kooystra,"  said  Forbes,  "thought  his  duty 
was  done  when  he  had  provided  something  to 
eat  and  drink — " 

"  Forbes,  having  only  thought  it  necessary 
to  supply  this  table,"  interrupted  Kooystra, 
pointing  to  the  marble  viands. 

"  He  secretly  expected  you  to  entertain 
us,"  concluded  Forbes. 

"You  may  look  at  us,"  said  Sylvia  archly. 
"  Beyond  that  I  decline  to  contribute  to  the 
evening's  programme." 

"  M.  Kooystra  will  sing  to  us,"  said  Jean. 

"  And  Colonel  Yorke  will  tell  us  a  ghost- 
story,"  added  Kooystra. 

"  I  have  always  believed  Colonel  Yorke  to 
be  a  man  of  dark  experiences,"  said  Sylvia 
gravely,  while  Jean  gave  her  a  glance  of  sur- 
prise. 

This  programme  was  joyously  carried  out. 
There  were  songs  and  a  wild  tale  of  adventure 
from  Colonel  Yorke,  supplemented  by  some 
weird  ghost-stories  of  Kooystra's.  But  first 
there  was  a  dainty  little  supper,  such  as  For- 


THE    WHOLE   TRUTH.  185 

firio  might  have  spread  for  Madeline  ;  the  rose- 
decked  wine  flasks  which  stood  all  a-row  on 
the  piano  and  the  high  chimney-shelf,  were 
opened,  and  perhaps  Chianti  and  Lacrima 
and  Monte  Pulciano,  added  a  little  to  the 
spirit  of  song  and  story,  and  to  the  sparkle  of 
the  jesting  talk. 

To  Jean  it  was  incomprehensible,  yet  infec- 
tious, this  mad,  merry  and  most  innocent  non- 
sense, which  kept  her  less  flexible  wits  in  a 
state  of  bewilderment  over  the  swift  repartee 
of  the  young  people.  She  felt  more  at  her 
ease  with  Colonel  Yorke,  though  he,  too,  had  a 
"  merry  devil "  in  his  dark  eyes ;  and  their 
acquaintance  prospered  that  evening  as  it  had 
not  done  before. 

It  grew  late  and  Jean  bethought  herself  of 
her  duties  as  chaperone ;  she  rose  to  go,  but 
Sylvia  lingered  talking  to  Colonel  Yorke,  and 
willing  to  wait  her  pleasure,  Jean  moved  about 
the  room  in  quiet  impatience.  On  the  ledge 
of  a  small,  quaint  cabinet  in  which  Kooystra 
bestowed  his  paints,  lay  a  tiny  box  of  Japa- 
nese metal  work.  Jean  took  it  up,  absently 
turning  it  over,  examining  the  exquisitely 


1 86  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

fine  inlaying,  and  searching  for  its  secret 
spring. 

"  That,"  said  Forbes,  approaching  them  from 
the  fire,  "is  Kooystra's  fetish,  Mrs.  Grandi- 
son.  He  carries  his  life  about  in  that  little 
box,  so  that  when  he  says  to  a  woman,  '  I 
would  lay  down  my  life  for  you,'  it  may  be  no 
empty  boast." 

A  shade  of  annoyance  crossed  Kooystra's 
face. 

"You  mistake,"  he  said,  in  his  usual  tone,  if 
any  thing  could  be  called  usual  in  one  so  varia- 
ble. "  I  have  only — in  case  the  fates  bestow 
upon  me  a  scolding  wife — provided  a  way  of 
escape." 

"  A  flight  from  the  ills  we  know  to  those  we 
know  not,  eh,  Kooystra?"  said  Colonel  Yorke, 
turning  toward  them. 

"  A  coward's  courage,  in  fact,"  said  Sylvia, 
not  in  the  least  knowing  what  they  were  talk- 
ing of,  but  rushing  in  at  random  in  defense  of 
her  sex.  "  Why  do  men  think  a  '  scolding  wife ' 
is  sufficient  excuse  for  any  thing  they  may  do  ? 
You  never  hear  women  excusing  suicide  or  dis- 
sipation on  the  plea  of  a  scolding  husband." 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  187 

"  We  can  call  a  man  who  ill-treats  his  wife  a 
brute,  Miss  VVyndham,  but  we  must  not  apply 
any  adjective  harsher  than  scolding  to  a 
woman  who  ill-treats  her  husband,"  said 
Kooystra,  quizzically. 

"  Well,  my  idea  is,  it  needn't  be  ail  so  one- 
sided," said  Forbes.  "  I  don't  believe  the  man 
is  always  to  blame  in  an  unhappy  marriage — 
though  I  own  women  are  vastly  better  than 
we  are." 

"  Thanks  for  the  admission,"  said  Sylvia, 
mockingly  ;  "  and  so,  because  we  are  so  much 
better,  we  are  to  do  all  the  forgiving  and 
peace-making  for  both." 

"  Marriage  is,  or  should  be,  a  contract  bind- 
ing two  people  to  forbearance  for  each  other," 
quoted  Colonel  Yorke,  thoughtfully. 

"  There,"  said  Sylvia,  with  a  grateful  glance, 
"  Colonel  Yorke  always  puts  in  words  what 
I  can  only  think." 

"  Whereas,  practically,"  said  Kooystra,  "  mar- 
riage generally  turns  out  to  be  a  contract  bind- 
ing two  people  to  aggravate  each  other  to  the 
verge  of  endurance  and  beyond." 

"  Well,"  said  Forbes,  philosophically,  his  feel- 


1 88  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

ings  soothed  by  a  lengthened  and  stealthy 
contemplation  of  Sylvia's  lovely,  eager  face, 
"  We  are  wasting  our  words  talking  of  what 
none  of  us  know  any  thing  about,  except,  of 
course,  Mrs.  Grandison." 

Kooystra,  whose  eyes,  as  often  happened, 
were  fixed  upon  Jean,  saw  a  swift  change  pass 
over  her  serene  face — a  startled,  hunted  look, 
strangely  like  that  of  the  portrait  near  which 
she  stood  ;  a  strong  effort  kept  the  smile  on  her 
quivering  lips,  and  she  spoke  in  an  odd,  strained 
voice. 

"  It  is  a  question  never  to  be  solved  by  dis- 
cussion," she  said,  laying  down  the  tiny  box 
which  she  had  been  absently  holding.  "  And 
indeed  it  is  too  late  to  begin  any  discussions 
now.  Sylvia,  we  must  go." 

She  was  trembling  in  every  limb  ;  and  while 
Sylvia  put  on  her  wraps,  she  turned  away  from 
the  light  and  approached  the  cabinet,  again 
taking  up  the  bit  of  inlaid  metal,  and  saying  in 
a  low  tone  to  Kooystra  : 

"  I  scarcely  understand  ;  tell  me,  M.  Kooys- 
tra, what  is  in  this  box  ?  " 

Kooystra  smiled,  and    taking   it    from    her, 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  189 

touched  the  spring,  and  revealed  a  tiny,  tear- 
shaped  phial  containing  a  few  drops  of  some 
colorless  liquid. 

"It  is  as  Forbes  told. you,"  he  said.  "My 
life  is  there.  That  is  hydrocyanic  acid  ;  instant 
death  when  life  shall  be  no  longer  worth 
living." 

His  tone  was  curiously  bitter  and  a  sigh 
half  escaped  him.  Jean  looked  at  him  earnestly. 

"  How  wrong,  how  foolish ! "  she  said,  feel- 
ing a  great  anxiety  for  this  pleasant,  fantastic, 
unstable  fellow,  of  whose  strange  moods  she 
had  some  experience.  "  Pray  forget  such  ideas, 
and,  M.  Kooystra — "  she  added,  urged  by  some 
strong  impulse  of  friendliness — "give  it  to  me, 
I  beg."  She  held  out  her  hand,  looking 
gravely  and  earnestly  at  him.  Kooystra  met 
her  glance  eagerly.  His  eyes  searched  hers. 
Had  Jean  had  more  of  a  certain  kind  of  woman- 
liness she  must  have  known  the  meaning  of 
that  look;  but  she  only  felt  that  her  influence 
or  her  will  had  swayed  him,  as  he  placed  the 
box  in  her  hand,  and  led  her  silently  to  her 
carriage. 

Forbes,  returned  from  watching  the  retreat- 


19°  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

ing  wheels  of  his  fair,  lit  a  contemplative  pipe 
with  a  coal  from  the  fire,  while  Kooystra,  who 
had  many  womanish  ways,  moved  softly  about, 
putting  this  and  that  away,  and  turning  Forbes' 
sketches  to  the  wall.  Before  his  own  picture 
of  Jean  he  paused,  fixing  on  it  a  questioning, 
moody  gaze. 

"  Forbes,"  he  said  presently,  "  you  remem- 
ber I  told  you  she  could  look  like  that  ?  Well, 
I  have  seen  the  look  to-night." 

"  What  a  gratifying  proof  of  your  perspicac- 
ity, old  fellow  !  "  said  Forbes  lazily. 

Kooystra  turned  abruptly  toward  him. 

"  I  wish  I  had  never  seen  her,"  he  burst  out. 
"  I  wish  my  hand  had  withered  before  I  had 
painted  her !  She  has  bewitched  me,  and  yet 
she  ignores  me.  Tell  me,  Forbes,  how  can 
such  an  infatuation  exist,  sapping  my  manhood, 
my  ambition,  and  all  for  a  woman  who  has 
never  even  tried  to  attract  me.  A  woman,"  he 
added  more  slowly,  "  whom  I  don't  believe  in. 
She  is  afraid  of  something — she  has  some- 
thing to  conceal — or  she  could  never  look  as 
she  looked  to-night." 

"And  yet  you  gave  her  your  life,  as    you 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  191 

call  it,  just  now,"  said  Forbes,  stopping  to 
poke  at  his  pipe  with  his  knife-blade.  "  Bah  ! 
Kooystra,  you're  bilious,  or  you've  had  too 
much  Chianti.  I'll  own  you're  an  unusually 
bad  case.  I'll  even  acknowledge  you're  '  des- 
perately in  love,'  if  the  phraseology  suits  you 
better ;  but  all  this  nonsense  about  her  ruin- 
ing your  life,  just  comes  from  the  liver.  You 
were  born  to  be  great,  and  great  you  will  be. 
7  believe  in  you,  if  no  one  else  does,  and  I 
believe  in  Mrs.  Grandison  too,  very  cordially — 
but  she's  not  worth  the  sacrifice  of  such  a  life 
as  yours;  few  women  are." 

"  Mental  reservation  in  favor  of  one,"  mut- 
tered Kooystra. 

"And  I'm  not  sure  but  it's  my  duty,"  went 
on  Forbes  severely,  "  to  thrash  you  for  using 
disrespectful  language  of  her,  if  I  didn't  know 
it's  mere  dyspepsia.  Come,  smoke  a  pipe  and 
have  a  good  night's  rest.  If  you  don't  change 
your  mind  I  dare  say  you  can  persuade  her 
to  have  you  ;  and  then,  perhaps,  you'll  live 
happy  ever  after." 

Kooystra  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  Thank  you, 
Forbes,"  he  said;  "you're  a  good  fellow,  I 


192  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

know  you  think  me  more  than  half  mad  some- 
times. You  should  be  glad  I've  put  tempta- 
tion out  of  my  way  at  last.  If  that  damned 
little  box  were  under  my  hand  to-night,  I  don't 
know  but  that  I  should  have  the  courage — or 
the  cowardice — to  use  it." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"  Oh  !  while  you  live,  tell  truth  and  shame  the  devil." 

JEAN  and  Sylvia  drove  silently  homeward 
together,  neither  one  altogether  content, 
both  brooding  over  what  they  thought  the 
injustices  of  life.  It  was  Jean's  habitual  mood, 
but  for  Sylvia  it  was  something  new ;  the  vast 
moonlit  spaces  where  the  fountains  flashed, 
the  narrow  ways  between  dark  high  houses  into 
which  they  rolled,  oppressed  her  with  a  sense 
of  helplessness ;  for  the  first  time  she  felt  the 
agony  of  wild,  useless  revolt  against  the  inev- 
itable. 

Jean,  still  holding  the  tiny  box  in  her  clasp, 
was  thinking,  with  a  return  of  her  accustomed 
bitterness,  how  no  one  was  free  from  care  ; 
even  their  gay  young  host — madly  merry  as 
Kooystra  showed  himself — had  place  in  his 
nature  for  the  strange  despair  into  which  she 
once  more  felt  herself  falling.  For  Jean's  un- 


194  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

easy  vanity  was  not  content  with  what  she  had 
gained  ;  her  moody  sensitiveness  could  not 
believe  in  the  reality  of  the  friendships  offered 
her.  Already  she  felt  a  scorn  of  the  admi- 
ration and  power  she  had  now  in  right  of  her 
beauty,  her  money,  her  position  ;  she  craved 
something  more  intimate:  a  response  to  the 
best  part  of  herself — the  highest  in  that  com- 
plex nature  which  she  never  tired  of  studying. 
And  even  this  girl  beside  her,  she  thought, 
has  her  own  griefs — and  she  put  out  her  hand 
in  the  darkness  to  clasp  Sylvia's. 

"  Oh  !  Mrs.  Grandison,"  sighed  the  girl,  "  do 
you  think  every  one  is  unhappy,  every  one  in 
the  whole  world  ?  " 

Jean  could  scarcely  answer,  so  deep  a  pity 
came  over  her  for  the  girl  to  whom  life  had 
been  so  bright,  that  at  the  first  shadow  over 
her  path  she  fancied  she  was  entering  the 
blackness  of  darkness  forever. 

"  Dear  Sylvia,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  think 
sometimes  young  people  are  more  unhappy, 
suffer  more  from  their  griefs  than  older  ones, 
they  are  so  eager,  so  hopeful.  Every  disap- 
pointment is  such  a  shock.  My  youth  was  an 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  195 

unhappy  one.  I  try  to  hope  my  middle  life  may 
be  happier." 

"Ah  !  "  said  Sylvia.  "  If  it  is  so — and  yet 
I  have  seen  old  people  sad  too — it  is  because 
they  have  ceased  to  hope,  and  have  taught 
themselves  to  expect  nothing  of  life  but  ma- 
terial comforts  and  intellectual  pleasures." 

"  That  seems  to  me  rather  a  comfortable 
programme,"  said  Jean,  with  a  somewhat  rueful 
smile.  "  I  look  for  little — yet  I  enjoy  life  very 
much,  now." 

"  Oh  !  but  to  give  up  all  thought  of  any  thing 
higher ! "  cried  Sylvia.  "  To  narrow  one's 
demands  to  such  bounds,  to  lose  ambition — 
purpose — love." 

"  My  child,  you  are  too  young  to  give  these 
up  as  lost  so  soon." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  said  Sylvia,  speaking 
fast  and  low.  "  I  am  humiliated  ;  it  makes  me 
miserable  to  find  myself  so  dominated  by  any 
thing  intangible.  A  fancy — a  feeling — "  her 
voice  died  away  in  a  sob.  "  Oh !  I  had  thought 
better  things  of  myself ;  the  worst  is,  to  have 
given  my  heart  unsought." 

Jean   was  silent,  only    clasping  fondly   the 


196  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

little  cold  hand  in  her  warm  strong  one,  for 
words  seemed  meaningless  and  useless. 

"  Understand  me,"  said  Sylvia  presently,  in 
a  firmer  voice.  "  It  is  only  my  luckless  fancy 

I  am  ashamed  of,  not  the  one  I he  is  the 

best,  the  worthiest." 

Can  this  be  Kooystra,  thought  Jean,  with 
dismay ;  for  fond  as  she  was  of  the  young  fellow, 
she  could  not  think  him  worthy  of  this  passion 
of  love  and  pain,  and  she  trembled  for  the 
awakening  from  such  a  dream. 

"  If  I  knew,  but  I  don't  ask  to  know,"  she 
said,  "perhaps  I  could  help  you  ;  but  in  any 
case  the  best  thing  is  to  live  your  own  life, 
with  your  art  and  your  purpose,  as  if  this  had 
never  come  into  it.  It  is  the  only  way  to 
lessen  the  sting.  I  don't  say  you  will  forget, 
some  women  never  can."  (This  was  a  kind  of 
paulo-post-futuro  wisdom  on  Jean's  part.) 
"  But  perhaps  all  may  come  right  for  you." 

"Ah!  no,"  answered  Sylvia.  "I  don't 
look  for  that.  I  mean  to  conquer  it,  but  I  can 
never  feel  that  I  have  done  wrong.  I  am 
proud  in  one  way  to  have  loved,  ever  so  hope- 
lessly, a  man  like " 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.    '  197 

A  name  hovered  on  her  lips,  and  Jean 
listened  with  strained  attention,  but  the  car- 
riage turned  sharply,  clattering  and  thundering 
under  the  archway  of  the  hotel.  A  sleepy  "  por- 
tier  "  flung  open  the  door,  the  footman  drew 
out  the  fur  rug,  and  Sylvia's  secret  was  left 
untold. 

There  was  a  handful  of  letters  for  each,  and 
Sylvia  took  hers  to  Jean's  room  to  read,  but 
the  impulse  of  confidence  had  passed  ;  things 
looked  differently  in  the  fire  and  candle-light 
of  Jean's  cozy  salon.  They  read  their  letters  in 
silence.  One  note  of  Sylvia's  she  handed  over 
to  Jean's  perusal  ;  it  was  from  Major  Limber — a 
clever  note — of  a  cordial,  not  to  say  gushing 
style,  earnestly  urging  some  plan  which  for  a 
few  days  would  throw  him  much  in  Sylvia's 
company. 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  and  Major  Limber  were 
so  intimate,"  said  Jean,  rather  coldly,  as  she 
handed  back  the  note. 

"Oh!  intimate!"  said  Sylvia;  "the  man 
is  well  enough,  clever,  amusing,  superficial, 
a  good  dancer.  I  don't  feel  specially  drawn 
to  him." 


198  -    THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

Jean,  left  alone,  reflected  long,  sitting  over 
her  fire,  which  she  fed  absently,  taking  a  sort 
of  mechanical  pleasure  in  placing  the  logs 
and  coaxing  them  into  flame.  Clever,  superfi- 
cial, amusing.  Ah !  yes.  And  Sylvia  was  in 
just  the  mood  when  a  clever  man  with  a  show 
of  devotion  might  gain  what  the  winner's  hand 
put  by.  Jean  had  before  been  hardly  con- 
scious of  the  depth  of  her  dislike  to  the  man, 
but  now  it  all  came  back  upon  her  in  a  rush 
of  recollected  bitterness:  the  fall  on  board 
ship,  the  man  who  had  stared  at  her  on  the 
Folkestone  pier,  the  unwelcome  attentions  in 
London,  the  visit  forced  upon  her  at  Many- 
cotes  ;  trifles  all,  but  with  some  natures  such 
trifles  dwell  forever  in  the  memory  to  sting  and 
imbitter.  To  do  Jean  justice,  she  now  knew 
the  man  for  what  he  really  was :  an  adventurer, 
unprincipled,  base  ;  and  no  woman,  with  such 
knowledge,  could  see  a  girl  like  Sylvia  fall, 
unwarned,  into  his  power. 

She  rose,  at  last,  putting  by  these  thoughts 
with  an  effort,  and  as  she  unfastened  the  lace 
at  her  throat,  there  fell  from  among  the  flowers 
on  her  bosom  Kooystra's  fetish,  the  tiny  box 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  199 

with  its  death-dealing  contents.  "  Poor  fel- 
low ! "  she  thought ;  "  so  he  is  unhappy,  too. 
Well,  at  least,  I  shall  have  done  one  good 
deed  in  my  day."  And  she  locked  it  away 
in  her  jewel-case,  smiling  over  the  boy's  ex- 
travagance of  feeling  and  of  words.  She  had 
a  cordial  affection  for  Kooystra,  such  as 
women  of  thirty-five  are  apt  to  feel  for 
younger  men  who  admire  them,  and  whom 
they  are  fond  of  calling  "  boys,"  but  all  her 
fondness  failed  to  discern  the  charm  requisite 
to  make  him  the  object  of  Sylvia's  hapless 
fancy. 

The  next  day  Sylvia,  restored  apparently 
to  her  wonted  spirits,  certainly  to  more  than 
her  usual  good  looks,  drove  out  with  Jean  in 
the  afternoon.  Their  long  tournfe  ended,  as 
always,  on  the  Pincio,  where  was  the  usual 
crowd  of  carriages  circling  in  their  narrow 
bounds,  the  same  beauties,  the  same  languid 
dandies,  the  same  tourists,  the  same  band, 
and  very  much  the  same  sunset,  with  the  great 
purple  dome  hanging  between  them  and  the 
western  sky.  They  drew  up  at  the  edge  of 
the  terrace,  bowing  this  way  and  that,  to 


200  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

friends  on  foot  or  in  the  carriages  near.  Sylvia, 
half  turned  away,  did  not  see  Major  Limber 
leaning  against  a  stone  post,  from  which  he 
detached  himself  as  he  saw  them  stop;  he 
moved  toward  them  slowly,  waiting  only  for 
Sylvia's  glance  of  recognition.  Jean's  eyes 
met  his ;  for  an  instant  she  looked  him  steadily 
in  the  face,  and  raising  her  hand  to  the  foot- 
man who  stood  at  attention  by  the  front 
wheel,  her  lips  formed  the  words  "  drive  on." 
The  man  sprang  to  his  place  ;  the  carriage 
started  with  a  scurry  of  hoofs  and  a  clatter  of 
pole-chains,  and  Major  Limber  was  left  plam te 
la,  his  hand  half  raised  to  his  hat.  It  was  an 
affront,  cool,  deliberate  and  pointed,  and  Jean 
felt  with  a  little  quickening  of  her  pulses,  as 
they  rolled  away,  Sylvia  all  unconscious  beside 
her,  that  she  had  taken  the  initiative  in  hos- 
tilities. 

Major  Limber  carried  it  off  rather  gallantly, 
lifting  his  hat  to  the  receding  carriage  and 
walking  across  the  road  as  if  with  his  first  in- 
tention, and  disappearing  under  the  ilex  trees 
to  conceal  the  rage  and  fury  in  his  face.  Many 
other  rebuffs,  in  the  course  of  a  tolerably  im- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  20 1 

pudent  life  had  fallen  off  Major  Limber's  hide 
like  water  from  the  proverbial  duck's  back,  but 
this  one  was  too  public,  unprovoked,  unbear- 
able. Jean's  heart  beat  faster  for  a  few  min- 
utes as  they  drove  round  and  round.  She  had 
acted  upon  an  impulse,  as  she  so  often  did,  and 
she  now  felt  that  she  had  perhaps  been  im- 
politic. The  man  had  hitherto  been  only 
passively  disagreeable  and  repugnant  to  her, 
now  he  must  become  an  active  enemy,  or  the 
look  in  his  eyes  as  they  met  hers  greatly  belied 
him.  But  months  of  security  in  her  false  posi- 
tion had  given  her  a  feeling  of  confidence  in  it 
and  herself.  She  had  forgotten  her  prudent 
resolutions  of  never  making  an  enemy  when  it 
was  possible  to  make  a  friend,  and  in  her 
fancied  immunity  she  had  gratified  a  spite 
which  some  time  ago  she  would  have  severely 
suppressed.  A  slight  feeling  of  uneasiness 
came  over  her,  which  grew  and  strengthened 
until  she  almost  lost  control  of  herself.  She 
had  meant  to  dine  out,  but  her  nerves  took 
such  possession  of  her  that  she  sent  a  regret, 
and  sat  alone,  brooding,  regretting,  unhappy, 
with  the  great  dog  pushing  his  head  into  her 


202  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

hand  and  looking  into  her  face  with  wistful 
eyes. 

There  was  a  knock,  and  Colonel  Yorke's  card 
was  brought  to  her.  He  had  never  called  on 
her  before,  and  she  roused  herself  to  receive 
him  with  cordiality  and  what  spirit  she  might. 

"  Fortune  befriends  me,  Mrs.  Grandison," 
said  Colonel  Yorke.  "  I  feel  myself  under  the 
protection  of  the  fickle  goddess  in  being  so 
lucky  as  to  find  you  at  home." 

"  She  extends  her  favors  to  me,"  said  Jean, 
graciously.  "  I  had  meant  to  dine  out,  but 
sent  a  regret,  and  I  believe,"  she  added,  with  a 
frank  laugh,  "  I  was  regretting  that  until  your 
card  came." 

This  was  a  promising  beginning.  Jean  for- 
got her  intention  of  having  a  fit  of  despair ; 
Colonel  Yorke's  presence  was  like  some  potent 
cordial  to  her,  inspiriting  her  until  she  ap- 
peared in  her  very  best  aspect,  as  a  charming, 
conversable,  clever  woman  of  the  world. 

Colonel  Yorke,  who  had  hitherto  admired 
her  from  a  semi-artistic  point  of  view,  delight- 
ing in  her  stately  grace  of  movement,  outcome 
of  her  perfect  physical  development,  in  her 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  203 

noble  contours,  and  her  oddly  attractive  color- 
ing, the  glow  of  her  dark  cheek,  the  brilliancy 
of  her  deep-set  eyes,  the  sheen  of  her  fair  hair, 
now  suddenly  awoke  to  a  perception  of  the  fact 
that  all  this  was  not  the  sum  of  her  charms. 
As  for  Jean,  her  reflections  on  the  vanity  of 
human  wishes  now  seemed  to  her  the  merest 
dyspeptic  fatuity.  Life  had  become  worth 
living;  her  destiny  a  glorious  one;  all  the 
mistakes  of  her  life  were  forgotten,  and  all  in 
the  short  space  of  a  two  hours'  call. 

Colonel  Yorke  broke  a  short  silence  which 
had  followed  the  relinquishing  of  some  topic, 
speaking  in  a  lower  tone,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
fire.  "  I  knew  your  husband,  Mrs.  Grandison." 

Jean's  heart  gave  one  great  thump,  and  the 
room  danced  and  wavered  before  her  eyes. 

"  I  have  never  spoken  of  him  before,"  went 
on  Colonel  Yorke,  "  because  there  are  so  many 
Grandisons,  I  was  never  quite  sure,  even  with 
the  name  before  me,  until  I  saw  his  photo- 
graph in  Miss  Wyndham's  hand  one  day." 

Jean  remembered,  and  bitterly  regretted 
that  she  had  allowed  Sylvia  to  make  a  sketch 
of  poor  Eustace  Grandison's  handsome  head. 


204  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

11  We  were  old  friends — boyhood's  friends," 
went  on  Colonel  Yorke,  without  observing  her 
silence,  "  but  I  had  lost  sight  of  him  for  some 
years  previous  to  his  death.  We  were  both 
wanderers,  and  going  each  our  different  ways, 
our  correspondence  dropped.  Men  seldom 
hold  fast  to  each  other  by  that  link  which  wo- 
men forge  so  well.  I  never  knew  his  family — " 

Jean  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief. 

"  And  so  it  happened  that  I  never  knew  of 
his  marriage  until  I  met  you — nor  have  I  ever 
known  any  particulars  of  his  death.  He  was  a 
noble  fellow." 

Jean's  throat  contracted  with  a  sharp  spasm  ; 
speech  was  for  a  moment  impossible  to  her, 
but  her  face  was  half-hidden  by  her  great  fan 
of  peacock  plumes,  and  she  presently  controlled 
her  voice  by  a  mighty  effort. 

"  I  do  not  know  Mr.  Grandison's  family 
either,"  she  said,  rather  huskily,  then  paused 
from  sheer  inability  to  go  on. 

"  Ah !  they  were  an  odd  lot,  I  remember," 
said  Colonel  Yorke,  easily.  "  Poor  Eustace 
could  never  hit  it  off  with  any  of  them  except 
his  sister  Rose." 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  205 

"He  died  at  Dover,"  went  on  Jean,  more 
steadily,  though  in  a  very  low  voice. 

"Of  fever?"  said  Colonel  Yorke.  "Where 
did  he  pick  it  up?" 

"  I  never  'knew,"  said  Jean,  desperately. 
"Colonel  Yorke,  you  must  forgive  me  if  I 
can  not  tell  you  much.  It  is  too  painful — 
there  was  so  much  to  try  me — the  distress  was 
so  great." 

Her  voice  died  away,  silenced  by  the  sound 
of  her  speech.  For  the  first  time  she  had  had 
to  put  the  lie  she  was  living  into  words.  All 
that  had  gone  before  had  been  easy — circum- 
stances had  played  into  her  hands  at  every 
turn  until  this  one  moment  of  unforeseen  trial. 

And  up  to  this  moment,  she  had  imagined 
for  herself  some  way  of  escape,  some  place  for 
repentance,  but  now  it  seemed  as  if  the  walls 
closed  round  her,  as  in  the  old  weird  story ;  by 
what  she  had  so  definitely  spoken,  she  must 
abide,  there  was  no  loop-hole  left. 

Colonel  Yorke  saw  that  she  was  deeply 
moved,  and  he  rose  to  leave  her ;  Jean  con- 
trolled herself,  and  stretching  out  her  hand, 
said  with  a  sort  of  splendid  audacity : 


206  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

"I  can  not  speak  to  you  to-night;  but 
indeed,  Colonel  Yorke,  I  am  glad  to  meet  an 
old  friend  of  Eustace,  and  I  should  be  proud  if 
I  might  retain  your  friendship  for  his  sake." 

"  It  is  yours,  dear  Mrs.  Grandison,"  said 
Colonel  Yorke,  "  truly  and  unreservedly  yours, 
for  your  own  sake  as  well  as  his." 

And  Jean,  in  the  midst  of  all  her  trouble, 
felt  a  strange,  tender  warmth  at  her  heart. 

When  he  was  gone,  her  composure  deserted 
her.  Some  such  crisis  she  had  expected ; 
some  encounter  with  one  who  had  known 
Eustace  Grandison  in  the  flesh,  had  hovered 
as  a  vague  possibility  on  the  horizon  of  her 
fancy ;  some  questioning  she  had  been  pre- 
pared for ;  yet  when  it  came  it  had  seemed  as 
sudden,  as  unwelcome,  as  death. 

"  And  yet,"  she  reflected,  looking  back  upon 
the  conversation.  "  No  amount  of  preparation 
could  have  gotten  me  out  of  it  any  better." 

A  faint  sort  of  a  misgiving,  which  had,  how- 
ever, nothing  of  the  nature  of  remorse,  crossed 
her  mind,  suggesting  that  as  a  matter  of  policy, 
it  would  have  been  better  to  have  invented  a 
name,  rather  than  to  have  entangled  herself 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  207 

with  the  posthumous  history  of  a  real  person. 
But  beyond  this,  no  regrets,  no  stirrings  of 
conscience  disturbed  her  ;  she  only  felt  a  thrill 
of  excitement  over  this  first  test  of  her  powers 
of  dissimulation  ;  a  sort  of  elation  over  the 
readiness  with  which  she  had  escaped  from  a 
puzzling  dilemma,  and,  as  she  grew  cooler,  an 
uneasy  prompting  to  escape  from  the  neigh- 
borhood of  one  so  directly  interested  in  her  as 
Colonel  Yorke.  One  of  her  moods  of  uncon- 
trollable nervousness  came  upon  her  ;  she  felt 
as  if  she  must  fly  from  his  presence,  must  have 
time  to  school  and  strengthen  herself;  above 
all,  that  she  must  be  gone  from  countries 
where  she  was  liable  at  every  turn  to  meet 
Eustace  Grandison's  friends. 

She  would  sail  for  America  in  May ;  she 
would  leave  Rome  at  once  ;  she  was  too  anx- 
ious, too  agitated  ;  she  felt  she  should  betray 
herself  if  she  met  Colonel  Yorke  again.  And 
she  felt  blindly  irritated  against  the  one  who 
had  surprised  her,  weak,  unready,  vulnerable, 
as  if  the  fault  lay  with  him  for  having  known 
the  stranger  whose  name  she  had  chosen  to 
wear. 


208  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

In  short,  Jean  yielded  as  usual  to  a  causeless 
panic,  and  after  a  sleepless  night  she  rose, 
haggard  and  unnerved,  to  make  hasty  prepara- 
tions for  departure.  Girth  and  Pritchett 
received  their  orders  while  she  ate  her  late 
breakfast.  Mrs.  Wyndham  and  Sylvia,  as  her 
nearest  and  dearest,  were  told  regretfully  and 
affectionately,  that  she  was  forced  to  leave  at 
once  on  important  business.  Promises,  regrets, 
hopes  to  meet  again,  were  renewed  and  ex- 
changed ;  and  before  they  had  recovered  from 
their  astonishment,  on  the  next  day  but  one, 
Jean  had  left  Rome. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
"  To  whom  a  conscience  never  wakes." 

P^YLVIA'S  dismay  was  great;  she  had 
O  counted  on  another  month  of  Jean's 
society  in  her  beloved  Rome  ;  and  Sylvia  was 
now  not  alone  in  her  interest  and  regret. 

This  abrupt  departure  had  not  been  effected 
without  comment,  as  had  been  the  case  when 
Jane  Harding  had  left  her  native  land,  or 
when  the  reserved  and  unknown  widow  had  so 
suddenly  quitted  Paris.  The  handsome,  popu- 
lar Mrs.  Grandison  was  too  much  of  a  person- 
age in  Roman  society.  Every  one  knew  her ; 
many  envied  her  ;  most  people  liked  and  ad- 
mired her  ;  and,  having  attained  very  nearly  the 
position  she  coveted  in  the  world's  eye,  it  was 
the  natural  consequence  that  those  who  com- 
posed that  world  should  talk  about  her.  And, 
accordingly,  from  all  the  salons  of  the  for- 
eign colony  there  went  up  such  a  clatter  of 


210  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

tongues,  such  a  tattling  and  gossiping  as 
would  have  furnished  Pope  with  a  new  chapter 
on  the  characters  of  women — and  of  men. 
Some  staunch  friends  Jean  had,  in  the  Wynd- 
hams,  Forbes  and  Kooystra,  and  the  good- 
natured  interest  expressed  by  the  Duchess  of 
Saintsbury,  now  returned  from  Southern  Italy, 
stood  her  in  good  stead.  But  people  must 
comment  on  the  suddenness  of  her  departure  ; 
there  were  stories  of  unpaid  debts,  and  at  last 
a  whisper  began  to  be  heard :  Mrs.  Grandison 
was  not  what  she  seemed  ;  was  not  rich  ;  was 
not  Mrs.  Grandison — in  short,  was  neither  more 
nor  less  than  an  adventuress  and  an  impostor. 

Some  such  rumor  as  this  reached  Sylvia's 
ears  one  day  at  a  reception  to  which  she  had 
unwillingly  gone;  for  with  Jean,  and  Colonel 
Yorke,  who  had  gone  to  Constantinople  a  few 
days  after  Jean's  departure — she  seemed  to 
have  lost  heart  and  spirit.  She  was  pale,  lan- 
guid and  depressed,  and  was  contributing  little 
to  the  gayety  of  the  group  of  ladies  among 
whom  she  sat ;  intellectual  topics  failed  grad- 
ually to  interest  them,  and  they  finally  turned 
to  the  unfailing  resource  of  gossip. 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  21 1 

"  So  the  distinguished  Mrs.  Grandison  turns 
out  to  be  a  clever  adventuress,  Mrs.  Atherton," 
said  one  lady,  caressing  the  knot  of  her  bonnet- 
strings  with  a  well-gloved  hand. 

"  Not  merely  clever,  but  so  successful,  my 
dear,"  returned  Mrs.  Atherton.  "  Think  how 
she  has  duped  us  all,  with  her  carriages  and 
her  diamonds — paste,  I  dare  say." 

"  But  the  horses  were  real,  I  am  sure,"  put 
in  a  demure  little  bride,  with  a  malicious 
twinkle  in  her  eyes. 

"  Much  more  substantial  than  Mrs.  Grandi- 
son s  pretensions,"  said  Mrs.  Atherton,  loftily 
ignoring  her  many  drives  behind  those  "  real 
horses." 

"  What  !  "  cried  Sylvia,  suddenly  roused. 
"  Who  dares  to  hint  such  things  about  Mrs. 
Grandison  ?  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Ather- 
ton, but  I  am  so  astonished.  I  have  heard 
nothing  of  all  this.  I  beg  you  to  give  it  full 
and  emphatic  contradiction.  Mrs.  Grandison 
an  impostor  !  People  must  be  mad  !  " 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Atherton,  somewhat 
stiffly.  "  You  are  very  young,  and  it  is  very 
pretty  of  you  to  take  up  the  cause  of  a  per- 


212  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

son  you  have  been  so  much  with — but  we 
know." 

"  And  so  do  I  know,"  cried  Sylvia,  indig- 
nantly. "  And  much  better,  I  am  sure,  than 
you  can,  for  I  have  staid  with  her  for  months 
in  her  English  home.  She  is  my  mother's 
friend  as  well  as  my  own,  and  I  can  not  hear 
such  things  said  of  her.  What  can  people  be 
thinking  of!  Major  Limber,"  she  cried,  ap- 
pealing to  that  gentleman  as  he  passed. 
"  Pray  re-enforce  me  ;  you,  I  am  sure,  will  not 
allow  such  things  to  be  said.  You  knew  Mrs. 
Grandison  in  England,  I  have  heard  you  say." 

"  I  knew  the  lady — yes,"  said  Major  Limber 
suavely,  but  with  an  ugly  look  in  his  eyes.  "  I 
met  her  in  a  pension  in  London,  where  she 
came  without  much  pomp  and  circumstance." 

"  But  you  have  been  to  Manycotes,"  per- 
sisted Sylvia. 

"Pardon  me,  Miss  Wyndham,  if  I  can  not 
indorse  the  lady  as  heartily  as  you  wish.  I 
really  know  nothing  about  her  beyond  such 
representations  as  she  herself  has  made." 

The  ladies  exchanged  significant  smiles,  and 
poor  Sylvia  found  herself  breathless,  trembling, 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  213 

and  utterly  unable  to  answer  Mrs.  Atherton's 
bland,  '*  Dear  child,  you  must  be  careful  how 
you  take  up  the  cause  of  a  person  who  may  not 
be  all  she  should  be." 

She  turned  hastily  away  to  conceal  the  in- 
dignant tears  which  blinded  her,  Major  Lim- 
ber moving  aside  to  let  her  pass ;  he  felt  he 
had  risked  somewhat,  in  speaking  of  Mrs. 
Grandison  as  he  had  done,  but  he  had  been  ac- 
customed to  a  world  in  which  friends  could 
listen  with  equanimity  to  any  thing  which  did 
not  affect  themselves,  listening  unmoved  to 
slurs  and  sneers,  and  turning  to  meet  the 
traduced  one  with  smiling  protestations  of 
changeless  affection.  He  fancied  he  would 
have  some  apologies  to  make,  that  it  might 
take  him  some  time  to  re-establish  himself  in 
the  high  place  he  felt  so  confident  of  holding, 
in  her  good  graces ;  but  he  was  wholly  unpre- 
pared for  the  passionate  vehemence  with  which 
she  took  up  Mrs.  Grandison's  cause.  He  kept 
his  place  at  her  side  as  she  pushed  her  way 
through  the  crowded  room,  addressing  some 
slight  observations  to  her  in  his  customary 
tone  of  confidential  flattery. 


214  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

"Major  Limber!"  she  cried,  turning  upon 
him  a  glance  of  bitter  contempt,  too  blindly 
furious  to  consider  the  unwisdom  of  her  words. 
"  Never  speak  to  me  again  !  Treacherous ! 
Unmanly!  You  are  all  Mrs.  Grandison  said — 
and  more! " 

"Ah!  madam!"  muttered  Limber  to  him- 
self, as  the  folds  of  the  portiere  closed  after 
Sylvia's  retreating  figure.  "  So  I  owe  you  this 
too !  I  have  lost  Sylvia — and  by  God,  you 
shall  pay  me  for  it !  " 

Sylvia,  trembling  and  unnerved,  hurried 
away  from  the  door,  brushing  past  the  man- 
servant who  offered  to  call  a  cab,  and  forget- 
ting that  she  was  on  foot  and  alone,  crossed 
the  Piazza,  di  Spagna  and  began  to  climb  the 
steps  toward  the  Trinita  de'  Monti,  her  eyes 
still  full  of  tears.  In  her  excitement  she 
did  not  see  Forbes  and  Kooystra,  who  were 
descending  them,  until  Kooystra,  seeing  a 
look  of  despair  on  lan's  face,  and  not  being 
dazed  by  Sylvia's  presence  into  utter  inability 
to  act, — good-naturedly  stopped  her  by  a 
word. 

"  Do  you  come  from  Lady  Fenimore's,  Miss 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  215 

Wyndham?"  he  asked.  "  We  were  hoping  to 
meet  you  there." 

Sylvia  stopped,  too  agitated  for  any  cere- 
monious greeting. 

"Oh  !  do  not  go  there !  "  she  cried,  "  I  shall 
never  go  there  again.  They  are  saying  such 
things  about  dear  Mrs.  Grandison." 

Kooystra  cast  a  curious,  quick  look  at 
Forbes. 

"  It  is  all  that  horrid  Major  Limber,"  went 
on  Sylvia.  "  I  know  he  has  started  these 
stories  about  her  being — her  not  being — her 
going  away  in  debt.  They  dared  to  call 
her  an  adventuress."  burst  out  poor  Sylvia, 
clinching  her  hands  with  a  "  kill  Claudio " 
expression.  "  I  know  he  has  done  it  all.  Oh  ! 
if  I  were  only  a  man  !  " 

"By  heavens,  I  should  like  to  fight  him  !  " 
cried  Forbes. 

"Duels  are  not  de  notrc  sihle"  said  the 
cooler  Kooystra,  "  but  I  should  thoroughly 
enjoy  horse-whipping  him,  and  I  dare  say  I 
shall  some  day.  But,  in  the  meantime,  let  us 
consider  what  is  best  to  be  done.  It  is  not 
best  to  stay  away  from  Lady  Fenimore's'  on 


2l6  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

account  of  this  gossip.  Where  Mrs.  Grandi- 
son's  enemies  are,  there  her  friends  should  be, 
too.  Forbes,  walk  home  with  Miss  Wyndham 
and  then  follow  me  to  Lady  Fenimore's.  I 
shall  be  there  an  hour  at  least." 

As  luck  would  have  it,  Kooystra,  making  his 
way  toward  his  hostess  through  a  crowded 
salon,  was  forced  into  close  quarters  with 
Major  Limber  just  in  time  to  hear  that  worthy 
repeat  his  slander  to  a  fresh  listener.  "  Have 
you  heard  the  news  about  the  soi-disant  Mrs. 
Grandison  ?  "  et  caetera. 

"  I  shall  demand  proof  of  that  news,  Major 
Limber,"  broke  in  Kooystra,  turning  to  face 
him,  "  if  your  rancor  outweighs  your  pru- 
dence, and  you  persist  in  belying  Mrs.  Grandi- 
son. But  not  here,"  he  added,  the  direct  gaze 
of  his  piercing  blue  eyes  seeming  to  check 
Major  Limber  on  the  verge  of  an  impetuous 
outburst.  "Whatever  explanations  or  apolo- 
gies you  may  wish  to  offer,  I  shall  be  ready  to 
receive — elsewhere." 

There  was  a  little  frightened  stir  among  the 
ladies ;  this  sounded  very  war-like,  and  Lady 
Fenimore  came  sailing  toward  them  with  out- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  217 

stretched  hands  and  wide,  flying  draperies. 
Major  Limber  had  but  a  second  for  reflection. 
He  had  no  proofs  ;  he  was  not  a  coward,  but 
he  did  not  care  to  engage  in  an  altercation 
with  any  friend  of  Sylvia's.  Rome  was  pleas- 
ant to  him,  and  he  did  not  care  to  leave  it  in 
such  an  explosive  way ;  and,  above  all,  here  was 
a  chance  to  put  some  one  else  in  the  wrong. 
So  he  summoned  some  sort  of  a  smile,  and 
said,  with  an  air  of  frank  bonhomie: 

"  My  dear  Kooystra,  I  have  no  proofs,  and  as 
for  explanations,  I  make  mine  now  frankly.  I 
was  merely  repeating  an  odd  bit  of  gossip, 
picked  up  at  a  cafe,  without  the  least  malevo- 
lence, and  I  withdraw  it  with  pleasure,  since 
you  say  it  is  not  so." 

He  looked  to  see  Kooystra  disconcerted,  but 
the  cold  blue  eyes  were  still  fixed  upon  him 
with  that  strange  power,  his  own  sank  under 
them,  and  somehow  it  was  he  who  felt  embar- 
rassed. 

"  Take  care  that  you  repeat  no  more  such 
gossip ! "  said  Kooystra,  sternly,  and  turned 
upon  his  heel  to  address  Lady  Fenimore. 

"  Oh  !    M.  Kooystra,"  said  that  great  lady, 


218  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

reproachfully,  "  I  thought  I  could  trust 
you." 

"  So  all  my  friends  think,  Lady  Fenimore," 
he  answered,  quietly,  "  especially  Mrs.  Grandi- 
son.  And  it  is  by  way  of  deserving  that  trust 
that  I  do  not  propose  to  permit  Major  Lim- 
ber's tongue  such  latitude  as  he  gives  it,  at 
least  in  speaking  of  my  friends.  You  must 
pardon  my  giving  him  his  lesson  here.  I 
should  not  stop  to  consider  my  whereabouts  if 
I  heard  him  maligning  you" 

Lady  Fenimore  could  not  object  to  this. 
Besides,  Major  Limber  was  going,  actually 
slinking  away  as  if  he  felt  himself  beaten, 
and  Kooystra  was  at  her  side,  among  her 
guests,  exerting  the  peculiar  charm  of  man- 
ner and  voice  which  made  this  strange, 
ugly  little  man  sometimes  irresistible.  Lady 
Fenimore  forgave  him,  and  before  he  left 
found,  to  her  great  surprise,  that  she  had 
given  him  a  promise  not  to  receive  Limber 
again. 

Meanwhile,  Sylvia  and  Forbes,  the  former 
still  shedding  indignant  tears,  had  turned  to 
the  left  at  the  top  of  the  Spanish  steps,  and 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  2ig 

followed  the  Trinita  del'  Monti  to  a  gate  of  the 
Pincian  Gardens,  close  by  the  Academy  of 
France.  It  is  a  retired  corner  of  the  gardens, 
and  here  Sylvia  sank  down  on  the  nearest 
bench  and  wept  unrestrainedly.  Ian  Forbes 
experienced  a  curious  conflict  of  feeling.  He 
struggled  against  his  man's  horror  of  tears 
— which  strongly  prompted  him  to  run  away — 
because  this  weeping  girl  was  the  woman  he 
loved,  and  he  shared  in  great  measure  the 
indignation  which  swayed  her.  So  he  stood 
before  her,  agitated,  undecided,  his  heart  melt- 
ing within  him  with  affection  and  tenderness, 
while  a  confusion  of  contradictory  sentiments 
checked  their  expression.  At  one  moment  he 
almost  laughed  aloud  as  the  random,  irritated 
thought  crossed  his  mind — "  I'm  sure  Mrs. 
Grandison  never  cries,"  and  in  the  revulsion 
from  this  harsh  judgment  he  sat  down  beside 
Sylvia  and  gently  took  her  hand. 

"  I  can  not  bear  it !  "  sobbed  Sylvia.  "  Per- 
fidious, treacherous  women !  How  I  despise 
them  !  And  you — you  were  her  friend,  too,  or 
appeared  to  be.  Why  don't  you  say  some- 
thing? " 


220  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

This  was  undeserved,  but  Ian  did  not  resent 
it.  He  had  lost  his  head  a  little,  and  softer 
sentiments  were  uppermost. 

"  Dear  Miss  Wyndham  !  "  he  said,  "  I  am 
as  truly  her  friend  as  I  am  yours,  and  you 
know  I  will  do  any  thing  you  tell  me — for  I 
love  you ! " 

Sylvia  started  to  her  feet.  In  the  tumult  of 
her  feelings  slie  had  hardly  realized  the  full 
significance  of  lan's  unluckily  timed  avowal, 
but  the  sound  of  the  words  awakened  her  to  a 
realization  of  fact  that  a  t$te-a-tete  in  a  retired 
part  of  the  Pincio  was  by  no  means  "  the  thing." 

She  began  to  walk  hurriedly  homeward, 
uttering  as  she  went  incoherent  phrases  which 
plainly  told  she  could  not  detach  her  thoughts 
long  enough  from  Jean's  affairs  to  appreciate 
what  Forbes  had  said. 

Poor  Ian  listened  very  patiently  to  the 
words  which  showed  him  how  small  a  place  he 
held  in  her  thoughts,  and  only  when  he  parted 
from  her  at  the  outer  door  of  the  court-yard, 
said  timidly  : 

"  Some  day  will  you  tell  me  if  there  is  no 
hope  for  me  at  all  ?  " 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  221 

Sylvia  came  out  of  her  maze  with  a  start  of 
dismay. 

"  Mr.  Forbes,"  she  cried.  "  Oh !  forgive 
me  !  " 

But  lan's  endurance  was  at  an  end  ;  he  had 
turned  hastily  away  and  was  walking  headlong 
toward  the  Porta  del  Popolo. 

Mrs.  Wyndham  had  driven  out,  Jean  was 
gone,  and  Sylvia,  entering  the  empty  salon, 
was  fain  to  fling  herself  down  before  a  little, 
merry,  light-hearted  fire,  bustling  up  the  chim- 
ney in  a  great  hurry,  and  to  think  herself  out 
of  her  bewildered  distress  as  best  she  might 
by  herself.  She  was  in  that  state  of  nervous 
tension  which  made  her  mother's  probable 
return  from  her  drive,  years  off;  helpless  anger 
against  Jean's  detractors  spurred  her  on  to  any 
impulsive  act,  while  a  great  rush  of  softening 
compunction  came  over  her  as  she  remembered 
the  careless  and  off-hand  way  in  which  she  had 
received  poor  lan's  declaration.  She  felt  she 
must  do  something,  not  much  matter  what ;  so 
she  straightway  did  as  foolish  a  thing  as  could 
enter  into  the  mind  of  woman  to  conceive. 
She  had  just  self-possessior.  enough  not  to 


222  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

write  Jean  a  full  and  particular  account  of 
the  scene  at  Lady  Fenimore's,  but  she  felt 
she  owed  some  apology  to  Ian,  so  she  hastily 
wrote,  sealed,  and  sent  the  following  note : 

"Mv  DEAR  MR.  FORBES, 

"  Pray,  pray  forgive  me  for  what  I  said — 
or  rather  for  what  I  did  not  say  to  you  this 
morning.  My  mind  was  so  full  of  dear  Mrs. 
Grandison  that  I  forgot  the  commonest  court- 
esy ;  but  you  must  know  I  could  not  bear  to 
wound  you.  I  can't  tell  you  how  deeply  I  feel 
your  kindness — indeed  I  am  incapable  of  tell- 
ing any  one  any  thing  to-night,  and  must  beg 
you  not  to  come  and  see  me  for  a  few  days. 
By  and  by,  when  I  am  capable  of  connected 
thought,  I  will  write  you  more  coherently. 
Just  now  I  can  only  apologize  for  behaving  so 
rudely,  so  badly.  I  was  so  wrought  up  I  did 
not  know  what  I  was  about,  but  you  will  not 
misunderstand  me,  I  know.  Pray  come  and 
see  me  soon.  You  are  my  only  consolation  in 
this  dreadful  affair,  for  I  know  you  feel  with 
me  in  every  way. 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"SYLVIA  WYNDHAM. 

"  Rome,  Friday." 

Having  thus  perpetrated  one  of  those  incon- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  223 

ceivably  foolish  actions  of  which  the  wisest 
women  are  sometimes  guilty,  Sylvia  went  to 
bed  relieved  of  all  anxieties  unconnected  with 
Jean,  and  wholly  unconscious  of  having  given 
Ian  Forbes  the  least  reason  to  count  upon  her 
accepting  him.  As  for  Forbes,  he  leaves  it  to 
the  unbiased  reader  whether  the  above  letter 
is  not  good  warrant  for  him  to  consider  him- 
self tacitly  accepted,  a  mere  maidenly  coyness 
postponing  more  definite  acknowledgments 
to  some  future  day. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  The  very  substance  of  the  ambitious 
Is  but  the  shadow  of  a  dream ." 

T  EAN,  following  her  will-o'-the-wisp,  social 
J  success,  westward,  recovered  very  quickly 
from  the  foolish  panic  which  had  caused  her  to 
leave  Rome.  Her  spirit  calmed  by  the  pleas- 
ures of  Parisian  shopping,  and  the  providing 
of  a  dream-like  collection  of  gowns  and  con- 
fections, she  wondered  at  her  fears,  recognizing 
and  regretting  the  weakness  of  her  nature, 
which  allowed  her  to  be  swayed  by  such  un- 
reasoning moods.  After  all,  however,  these 
abrupt  entrances  and  exits  suited  her  dramatic 
vein ;  they  served  to  make  her  noteworthy — 
she  was  far  from  imagining  in  what  way — and 
she  took  a  sort  of  pride  in  them.  She  wrote 
lovingly  to  Sylvia,  cordially  to  Kooystra,  Forbes 
and  one  or  two  more,  and  by  the  middle  of 
May,  at  which  time  her  passage  was  taken  for 
America,  she  had  recovered  the  belief  in  her- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  225 

self  and  the  pleasure  in  her  role  which  her 
Roman  winter  had  fostered. 

Jean  Grandison,  self-approving,  self-assured, 
was  a  very  different  traveling  companion  from 
Jane  Harding,  shrinking,  imbittered  and  sensi- 
tive. She  was  soon  on  good  terms  with  the 
most  desirable  of  her  shipmates,  and  not  at  all 
inclined  to  be  reserved,  as  regarded  her  pur- 
poses and  prospects. 

When  Mrs.  Prescott  found  that  this  charm- 
ing widow  meant  to  buy  or  build  a  house  at 
Newport  "  for  a  pied-a-terre  in  my  native  land 
after  so  many  years  of  exile,"  she  thawed  a 
little  from  her  Bostonian  triple  armor  of  reserve, 
and — mentally  resolving  to  find  out  who  Jean 
"  was  "  before  she  became  Mrs.  Grandison — 
revealed  the  fact  of  her  own  summer  residence 
there,  and  by  the  time  they  landed,  had  so 
far  forgotten  wha.t  was  due  to  herself,  as  to 
express  a  hope  of  seeing  Mrs.  Grandison 
(spinster  identity  still  unknown)  at  Sea-Spray. 
Other  fellow-travelers  less  distinguished  for 
blue  blood  or  Newport  cottages  were  equally 
cordial,  and  Jean  felt  that  she  reached  her 
native  land  with  a  fairly  promising  number  of 


226  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

eminently  desirable  acquaintances.  Thus 
when,  early  in  June,  she  appeared,  with  her 
usual  unostentatious  simplicity  at  a  quiet  but 
"  swell "  boarding-house  in  Newport,  she  no 
longer  felt  herself  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land, 
but  a  properly  accredited  visitor,  with  no  small 
claim  upon  her  entertainers.  Her  expectations 
were  fulfilled ;  the  Duchess  of  Saintsbury's 
kindly  note  having  been  dispatched  to  Mrs. 
Du-Moncel-Brown,  that  indisputably  great 
woman,  arbiter  of  the  said  and  done  at  New- 
port, hastened  to  welcome  her.  And  when 
Jean,  modestly  calling  upon  her  in  a  cab,  had 
made  her  little  speech  about  a  pied-h-terre, 
Mrs.  Du-Moncel-Brown  took  her  up  enthusiasti- 
cally, driving  her  from  agent  to  agent  in  her 
own  landau  until  Jean's  search  for  a  cottage 
should  be  concluded  to  the  satisfaction  of  her 
fastidious  fancy. 

Nor  was  this  pure  philanthropy ;  the  re- 
ward of  being  able  to  talk  of  Jean  as  "  a  charm- 
ing woman  with  such  cordial  letters  to  me  from 
the  dear  duchess,  '  was  full  and  immediate. 
Not  Jean  alone  was  gilded  by  the  reflected 
glory  of  an  introduction  from  the  Duchess  of 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  22? 

Saintsbury.  The  golden  haze  also  hung  shim- 
mering about  Mrs.  Du-Moncel-Brown  as  the 
addressee  of  the  letter. 

Curious  and  worthy  of  study  are  the  various 
attitudes  of  the  American  mind  in  regard  to 
titles.  Young  ladies  of  the  most  pronounced 
democratic  principles  are  heard  inveighing 
against  the  toadyism  with  which  the  steps  of 
a  certain  marquis  or  baron  have  been  attended  ; 
how  the  "  marquis'  eyes,  the  baron's  smile " 
have  been  loudly  sung  by  less  discreet  fair 
ones,  and  until  a  circumstantial  recital  of  how 
they  declined  the  great  man's  acquaintance,  the 
cynical  hearer  suspects  that  marquis  and  baron 
must  somehow  have  failed  to  recognize  their 
especial  charm.  The  cynical  hearer  is  apt  to 
be  confirmed  in  this  suspicion,  when,  on  the 
appearance  of  an  unassuming  gentleman,  who, 
really  believing  in  the  republicanism  professed 
by  us  as  a  people,  has  laid  aside  his  title  in 
favor  of  a  simple  "  Mr.,"  the  pretty  scornful 
lips  are  heard  occupying  themselves  with  a 
recital  of  his  place  and  privileges,  while  the 
delicious  monosyllable  "  prince  "  comes  trip- 
pingly from  their  tongues.  Then  there  are 


228  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

the  men  who  parade  their  indifference  and 
contempt  for  rank  to  the  very  men  they  are 
courting,  and  while  they  affect  to  be  unable  to 
remember  "  that  d — d  nonsense  of  Lord 
this  and  Duke  that,"  retain  for  years  a  vivid 
recollection  of  their  intimacy  with  "  that  good 
fellow  So-and-so  ;  he's  a  duke,  you  know  ;  but 
I  didn't  mind  that." 

Not  to  be  too  monotonous,  our  Republic 
fosters  another  class,  less  numerous  and  more 
exclusive,  descendants  of  the  "  real  old  fami- 
lies ;  "  north,  south,  east,  and  can  we  say  west  ? 
in  whom  family  pride  has  been  cherished,  like 
some  rare  exotic,  for  nearly  two  hundred  years. 
These  do  not  hesitate  to  say  they  love  a  lord  ; 
they  feel  themselves  of  the  same  fine  porcelain 
clay  of  humanity. 

"Our  institutions  are  all  very  well,"  they  say, 
"  but  j0#and  /  know,  my  dear  Mrs.  Blueblood, 
that  there  can  be  no  real  equality  between  us 
and  common  persons  of  no  family." 

But  even  here  grows  and  flourishes  the  "fine 
fleur"  of  humanity,  the  gentleman  in  the  true, 
not  in  the  petrified,  sense  of  the  word  ;  here 
develop  to  uttermost  perfection,  men  and 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  229 

women  who,  long-descended  or  self-made,  are 
of  the  best  blood  of  all  the  ages,  and  to  them 
may  safely  be  left  the  credit  and  the  future  of 
our  land. 

When  all  these  things  reached  the  ears  of 
Mrs.  Prescott,  Jean's  Boston  friend  of  the 
Servia,  it  seemed  clearly  her  duty  not  to  wait 
upon  Jean's  modesty,  but  promptly  to  call  upon 
her  at  her  boarding  place.  Here,  too,  Jean 
was  presently  re-enforced  by  the  arrival  of  Mrs. 
Randolph  and  her  daughter,  whilome  guests  at 
Manycotes,  and  unconscious  cause  of  Major 
Limber's  first  discomfiture.  Casually  meeting 
them,  she  was  cordially  embraced  and  claimed 
as  an  old  friend.  To  this  even  her  caution 
acceded,  foreseeing  the  value  of  an  ally  who 
could  speak  with  knowledge  of  her  English 
home,  to  which  she  had  as  yet  barely  alluded. 
Sadie  Randolph  was  not  quite  "  in  the  swim," 
as  she  phrased  it,  but  she  was  pretty,  and  pre- 
sentable ;  she  knew  a,  good  many  "nice" 
people,  and  when  Mrs.  Du-Moncel-Brovvn  and 
Mrs.  Prescott  found  that  she  could  talk  enthusi- 
astically of  her  visit  to  Jean's  "  place "  in 
Somersetshire,  they  accepted  her  at  her  face- 


230  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

value.  Jean's  usual  good  luck  in  the  matter 
of  real  estate  did  not  fail  her  here.  A  fifty 
thousand  dollar  "cottage,"  fallen  vacant  by  the 
death  of  the  owner,  seemed  so  cozy,  modest 
and  suitable,  so  much  "  the  thing  "  in  every 
way,  that  it  was  quickly  bought  ;  its  de- 
ficiencies, imperceptible  to  any  eye  but  Jean's, 
hastily  supplied ;  the  name  of  "  Many-cotes- 
in-America,"  placed  upon  the  gate,  and 
Jean  found  herself  once  more  a  house-holder. 
Before  very  long  too,  she  found  her  ideas  of 
household  arrangement  becoming  the  ideals 
of  her  enthusiastic  new  friends.  Sadie 
Randolph,  invited  to  remain  at  the  new  Many- 
cotes  while  her  mother  took  a  further  flight, 
was  too  quick  in  her  perceptions  not  to  fulfill 
Jean's  unexpressed  expectations.  Every  dainty 
device  of  Jean's  luxury-loving  brain,  every 
reminiscence  of  the  "old  country  "  Manycotes, 
was  industriously  exploit^  by  that  right- 
minded  young  lady,  and  always  at  precisely  the 
proper  time.  On  a  damp,  foggy  day,  a  wood- 
fire  having  been  lit  to  enliven  the  belated  lunch- 
eon which  Mrs.  Du-Moncel-Brown  was  sharing 
with  them— it  would  be  : 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  231 

"Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Grandison — that  lovely  fire, 
with  a  footman  and  that  fascinating  brass 
kettle,  just  like  lovely  Manycotes !  How  I 
hope  it  will  storm  to-morrow,  then  we  can  have 
a  fire  at  breakfast.  But  where,  oh !  where,  is 
the  delicious  little  silver  gridiron  we  used  to 
toest  our  bacon  on  at  Manycotes?" 

And  so  on,  ad  libitum  ;  from  all  which  it  may 
be  perceived  that  Miss  Sadie  Randolph,  though 
not  intellectually  Jean's  equal,  nor  the  congenial 
companion  Sylvia  had  been,  was  a  shrewd 
young  woman  who  knew  how  to  make  herself 
valued  where  she  would  be,  and  had  a  single 
eye  to  her  own  interests,  as  seen  through  the 
medium  of  a  friend's  glory. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

"  The  supreme  happiness  of  life  is  the  conviction  that 
we  are  loved,  loved  for  ourselves  ;  say  rather,  loved  in 
spite  of  ourselves." 

THUS  Jean's  social  success  in  her  own 
country  was  assured  at  once,  without 
encountering  any  of  the  impediments  which 
had  daunted  her  at  the  outset  of  her  career. 
The  stars  in  their  courses  had  fought  for  her, 
and  she  began  to  have  that  comfortable  sense 
of  deserving  all  the  good  which  could  befall 
her,  which  is  the  portion  of  those  who  demand 
most  from  life.  Jean's  creed  did  not  stop  at 
the  belief  that  the  world  owed  her  a  living  ; 
she  also  firmly  held  that  it  owed  her  admira- 
tion, flattery,  imitation  ;  and  now  that  these 
demands  were  in  some  degree  responded  to, 
she  began  to  wear  that  smiling  face  which  is 
so  readily  reflected.  Jean  had  bitterly  con- 
demned her  mother  for  causing  her  to  spend  the 
best  years  of  her  life  in  a  friendless  exile.  In 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  233 

the  springtime  of  life,  when  friendships  germi- 
nate as  well  as  plants,  she  had  been  shut  away 
from  her  kind  like  any  cloistered  nun.  Now, 
at  thirty-five,  this  was  changed  ;  friendly  faces 
greeted  her  at  every  turn  ;  she  was  courted, 
flattered,  and  caressed  in  the  very  land  with 
which  were  associated  the  memories  of  her 
sensitive  girlhood,  the  bitterness  of  utter  iso- 
lation, the  shipwrecked  feeling  of  passing 
through  crowds  without  seeing  a  single  familiar 
face. 

Now,  when  Loki  was  led  along  the  avenue, 
mincing  coquettishly  on  her  dainty,  shell-like 
hoofs,  every  voice  said,  "  There  goes  Mrs. 
Grandison's  mare  ;"  and  every  head  was  turned 
to  look  at  Jean  as  she  followed,  in  her  hat  and 
habit,  leaning  back  in  the  low  victoria,  with  its 
incomparable  team :  for  among  the  foreign  cus- 
toms which  Jean  affected  was  that  of  mount- 
ing her  horse  outside  of  the  town. 

But  her  nature  had  been  too  long  given  over 
to  the  seven  devils  of  self-torment  to  exist 
without  a  grievance.  In  the  full  tide  of  her 
quickly-won  success,  Jean  began  to  consider 
with  herself  that  these  visitors,  these  guests 


234  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

and  hosts,  and  assiduous  flatterers  and  imita- 
tors, were  mere  acquaintances,  interested  and 
self-seeking,  as  she  cynically  acknowledged 
herself  to  be.  She  craved  the  security  of  real 
friendship  and  honest  affection.  She  thought 
almost  with  tears,  of  Sylvia's  sweet  sincerity, 
of  Kooystra's  oddly  expressed,  uncertain,  yet 
unmistakable  attachment. 

At  just  this  time,  when  her  heart  was  stretch- 
ing out  yearning  hands  toward  the  few  people 
who  had  crept  into  it,  almost  against  her  will, 
Colonel  Yorke  arrived  in  Newport. 

Keppel  Yorke,  having  sailed  from  a  Medi- 
terranean port  directly  for  America,  found  the 
atmosphere  of  the  country  he  had  made  his 
own  with  such  enthusiasm,  curiously  unconge- 
nial. He  was  one  of  the  men  whom  good-for- 
tune permits  to  be  busy  or  idle  at  will,  and  his 
first  impulse  had  been  to  remedy  his  creeping 
discontent  by  the  common-sense  prescription 
of  hard  work.  He  had  thrown  himself  with 
avidity  into  the  details  of  his  affairs,  rushing 
from  Texan  pasture  lands  to  Colorado  mines 
and  California  wheat-fields.  But  he  was  ill 
at  ease  ;  his  thoughts,  usually  like  well-drilled 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  235 

soldiers,  very  much  at  his  command,  kept  turn- 
ing aside  into  pleasant  but  unprofitable  ways. 
The  odor  of  wood  smoke,  a  cool  breeze  as  he 
passed  from  sunshine  into  shadow,  sent  them 
on  an  airy  voyage  to  Rome,  and  the  little  salon 
where  he  had  spent  so  many  hours  with  Jean 
and  Sylvia.  Was  it  Sylvia's  girlish  charm  or 
Jean's  matured  beauty  which  exercised  over 
him  a  spell  so  powerful  ?  He  was  loth  to 
acknowledge  himself  under  any  woman's  influ- 
ence. In  reviewing  the  by  no  means  virgin 
pages  of  his  past,  he  encountered  many  epi- 
sodes, when  he  had  fancied  himself,  or  per- 
haps had  been,  desperately  in  love.  It  had 
been,  however,  a  brief  madness,  readily  recov- 
ered from,  and  in  no  way  akin -to  the  impulse 
with  which  his  whole  nature  now  turned  to — 
Jean.  Yes,  it  was  Jean.  In  her  serene  and 
rather  inexpressive  presence  he  felt  that 
responsive  quality  which  we  are  fain  to  desig- 
nate by  clumsy  circumlocutions,  but  which  the 
Italians  characterize  by  saying,  "she  is  simpat- 
ica"  Comprehension,  companionship,  response, 
restfulness,.  fulfillment,  all  these  seemed  to  come 
to  him  with  Jean's  gracious  presence,  the 


236  THE    WHOLE   TRUTH. 

sound  of  her  voice — the  touch  of  her  hand. 
This,  at  least,  is  what  Colonel  Yorke  said  to 
himself,  when,  having  read  Jean's  name  in  the 
Newport  notes  of  some  newspaper,  having  fol- 
lowed unquestioned  the  impulse  which  sent 
him  on  a  journey  of  some  thousands  of  miles 
toward  her  abode — he  at  last  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  her  in  the  drawing-room  of 
the  new  Manycotes. 

As  for  Jean,  all  the  training  of  years  of  out- 
ward self-repression,  the  long  habit  of  master- 
ing emotion  under  an  exterior  of  cold  indif- 
ference, were  scarcely  sufficient  to  conceal  the 
sudden,  mad  joy  which  told  Jean  her  unsus- 
pected secret.  Love,  late,  but  more  intense 
for  the  delay,  had  come  to  her  at  last. 

Mammas  who  had  looked  with  an  approving 
eye  upon  Colonel  Yorke's  qualifications  for 
the  post  of  son-in-law ;  daughters  who  had 
gracefully  acquiesced  in  their  mother's  wish  to 
install  him  in  that  position,  were  obliged  to 
relinquish,  not  without  sighs,  their  hopes, 
when  they  saw  with  what  fixed  purpose  and 
disdain  of  all  subterfuge  Colonel  Yorke  de- 
voted himself,  as  the  phrase  goes,  to  Mrs. 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  237 

Grandison.  He  had  lived  too  long,  lightly  to 
spare  "  the  time  that  is  lost  in  wooing "  by 
younger  men,  and  soon  gave  up  the  pretext  of 
seeking  Jean  for  any  thing  but  Jean  herself,  if 
haply  he  might  win  her. 

It  was  Jean's  first  wooing,  and  it  was  long 
before  she  realized  his  meaning.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  she  felt  herself  unworthy — a 
newborn  humility  revealed  her  to  herself  at 
her  true  value.  And  the  joy  which  trans- 
figured all  her  being  was  unmarred  by  any 
touch  of  the  coquette's  pride  of  power  gained 
through  man's  senses  over  his  soul. 

They  had  been  talking  idly,  with  long, 
delicious  silences,  such  as  lovers,  acknowledged 
or  unacknowledged,  delight  in. 

"  Coward  !  "  said  Colonel  Yorke,  starting  to 
his  feet  and  bending  over  her.  "  That  I  should 
have  hesitated,  so  long.  I  have  feared  my  fate 
too  much.  Jean,  I  must  risk  all  now,  loss  or 
gain,  because  I  must  know  if  you  love  me — as 
I  do  you." 

And  Jean,  never  having  discovered  the  use 
or  value  of  a  "  woman's  no,"  met  truth  with 
truth,  and  answered  simply:  "  Indeed  I  do." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"  Dare  to  be  true  ;  nothing  is  worth  a  lie." 

SOME  far-off  gipsy  ancestress  Jean  must 
have  had,  whose  wild  blood  stirring  in 
her  veins,  drove  her  out  of  doors  in  all  her 
hours  of  excitement,  whether  of  joy  or  pain. 
It  was  late  before  she  was  alone,  and  could 
yield  to  this  craving,  but  when  she  was  at  last 
free,  she  wrapped  herself  in  a  shadowy  cloak, 
and  calling  Bor,  stepped  out  of  the  low  win- 
dow on  the  dusky  lawn. 

A  great  golden  moon, — the  hunter's  moon, 
for  it  was  October, — hung  low  in  the  heavens, 
slowly  rising  over  a  long  dim  line  of  distant 
coast.  .  On  a  far-off  point 

"  The  light-house,  like  a  sullen  star, 
Twinkled  to  many  a  dozing  tar, 
Rude  cradled  on  the  mast." 

Between  and  far  below,  lay  the  sea,  softly 
breathing,  serene,  unvexed,  and  treacherous. 
"  And  this  was  in  the  world  for  me,  and  I 


THE    WHOLE   TRUTH.  239 

knew  it  not  !  Oh !  that  I  had  lived  worthy  of 
it !  "  thought  Jean. 

All  her  faults,  follies  and  mistakes  rose  up 
accusingly  before  her,  but  for  the  time  being 
the  mad  rush  of  her  joy  swept  them  out  of 
sight ;  for  this  one  night  she  was  supremely, 
gloriously  happy.  She  longed  to  saddle  Loki, 
to  creep  out,  not  by  her  front  gate,  but  here, 
along  the  cliff ;  to  ride  far  and  fast  along  the 
moonlit  beaches ;  and  had  she  been  Jane 
Harding  still,  she  would  have  done  it. 

But  something  now  withheld  her ;  she  felt 
the*  pressure  of  a  sweet  bondage  restraining 
her ;  her  will  was  swayed  by  another's  ;  her 
deeds,  words,  thoughts  were  owed  to  him,  a 
debt  gladly  paid.  So  she  lingered  but  a  little 
while  in  the  wonderful  golden  calm  :  Bor 
pacing  grave  and  glad  beside  her,  till  the 
tumult  of  her  heart  was  calmed  enough  for  her 
to  think  of  sleep — and  of  her  looks  on  the 
morrow. 

But  the  serpent  for  Jean's  paradise  was  not 
long  in  appearing,  presenting  himself  the 
very  next  day,  with  a  prettily  forked  red 
tongue,  and,  indeed,  waking  Jean  from  happy 


240  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

slumbers  with  a  small  venomous  hiss.  For  to 
Jean,  waking  early  to  brood  upon  her  joy, 
came  the  sudden  recollection  of  her  false  name, 
her  false  position,  her  false  self  ;  the  vast  sum 
of  falsehood  she  was  about  to  bestow  on  the 
man  she  loved,  in  return  for  his  honest  devo- 
tion. 

Now,  indeed,  she  must  escape  and  be  alone. 
She  sprang  from  her  bed  and  rang  furiously ; 
it  was  very  early,  but  Jean's  household  were 
used  to  caprices,  and  Loki  was  saddled  and 
stood  at  the  door,  the  graceful  head  on  the 
long,  pliant  neck  turning  eagerly,  as  she 
neighed  a  welcome  to  her  mistress — almost 
as  soon  as  Jean  could  get  into  her  habit. 

In  the  company  of  this  dumb,  loving  friend, 
and  in  the  sweet  morning  air,  all  Jean's 
thoughts  were  calmed;  she  rode  slowly  on 
beside  the  receding  surf,  thinking  earnestly 
and  intently  over  her  position.  The  senti- 
mental side  of  it,  she  was  able  to  dismiss  more 
quickly  than  she  had  feared.  The  truth  and 
faith  of  her  heart  were  Yorke's,  she  reflected, 
and  she  felt  no  prompting  to  endanger  her 
place  in  his  regard  by  the  confession  of  her 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH,  241 

double-dealing.  As  for  the  practical  side  of  it, 
she  considered  attentively  its  every  possible 
aspect.  Her  money  was  now  all  safely  in- 
vested ;  the  deed  of  each  piece  of  property 
bore  the  name  of  Jean  St.  George  Grandison ; 
.no  investigation  which  he  was  likely  to  make 
into  her  affairs  would  give  any  hint  of  the 
truth.  No  human  being  existed  likely  to 
betray  or  even  suspect  her.  Since  her  return 
to  America  she  had  encountered  no  one  of  the 
few  formal  acquaintances  of  former  days,  nor 
had  she  even  heard  whether  Mr.  Sandman 
were  dead  or  alive.  Had  she  done  so,  how- 
ever, what  reason  had  any  one  of  them  to 
doubt  her  statement  that  in  the  years  which 
had  elapsed  since  she  last  left  America  she  had 
been  married  and  widowed,  as  she  was  now 
about  to  be  married  again.  This  last  thought 
swept  away  all  lingering  doubts  ;  into  abstract 
questions  of  truth  and  falsehood  it  was  not 
Jean's  nature  to  enter,  and  dismissing  now 
every  misgiving,  she  turned  Loki's  head  home- 
ward with  a  glad  heart. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

"  There  is  some  soul  of  greatness  in  things  evil." 

SYLVIA  was  coming.  This  was  the  rose- 
leaf  on  Jean's  overflowing  cup,  for  now 
that  she  loved,  her  heart  was  wider  and  warmer 
for  all  those  whom  she  called  her  friends.  She 
repeated  the  news  often  to  Colonel  Yorke, 
who  smiled  over  her  childlike  pleasure,  while 
sharing  it  in  his  way ;  and  when  at  last  Sylvia 
came,  Jean's  heart  felt  what  was,  perhaps,  its 
first  generous  pang,  at  seeing  the  young  girl  so 
wan,  silent  and  distraite. 

"  My  little  one !  "  she  said  tenderly,  "  you  are 
so  pale,  you  have  been  working  too  hard." 

"  I  have  been  trying  your  prescription,"  said 
Sylvia,  with  a  smile  as  sad  as  tears.  "  I  have 
faithfully  tried  to  forget  myself  in  my  work.  I 
am  improving — you  shall  see.  You  must  let 
me  paint  you,  for  I  never  saw  you  so  beauti- 
ful." 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  243 

Jean's  cheeks  flushed  with  a  conscious  color. 

"  You  shall,  dearie — but  you  shall  not  work 
too  hard  over  it.  This  glorious  pure  air  will  do 
you  good,  and  Colonel  Yorke  and  I " 

"  Is  Colonel  Yorke  here?"  interrupted  Syl- 
via, not  noticing  the  significant  association  of 
the  names ;  and  Jean  was  about  to  announce 
to  her  the  joyful  secret  which  shone  in  her 
every  glance,  but  something  in  the  girl's  tone 
gave  her  pause.  She  moved  away,  turning  to 
conceal  her  face,  and  said  in  an  indifferent 
voice : 

"Yes,  he  is  still  here,  but  I  believe  he  is 
going  soon." 

There  was  a  moment  of  eloquent  silence  ; 
suspicion,  dismay,  certainty,  swept  through 
Jean's  mind ;  she  mastered  herself  presently 
and  spoke  caressingly,  standing  behind  Sylvia's 
chair,  and  drawing  the  fair  head  fondly  against 
her  bosom. 

"  You  have  never  told  me  his  name,  Sylvia," 
she  said.  "  May  I  guess  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  not  tell  you  ?  "  said  Sylvia, 
in  a  broken  voice.  "  It  can  be  no  shame  to  love 
— to  have  loved — such  a  man  as  Colonel  Yorke," 


244  THE    WHOLE   TRUTH. 

Her  voice  died  away  in  a  whisper  and  Jean's 
heart  gave  two  or  three  such  throbs  she  felt 
as  if  Sylvia  must  have  heard  them. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  child,"  she  said,  after  a 
second's  pause.  "  Lie  down  now,  and  rest." 

She  kissed  Sylvia's  cold  cheek,  and  left  her 
to  woo  very  uncertain  slumbers. 

While  Sylvia  slept,  Jean  acted,  with  feverish 
impulsiveness.  She  wrote  and  dispatched  a 
hasty  line  to  Colonel  Yorke,  bidding  him  come 
to  her  at  once,  and  waited,  in  silent  conflict 
with  herself — strong  and  weak  by  turns,  doubt- 
ing herself,  hating  herself — and  living  through, 
altogether,  some  of  the  bitterest  moments  of 
her  life. 

"Colonel  Yorke,"  she  said  abruptly,  as  he 
entered,  forcing  herself  to  set  the  seal  of  action 
on  her  resolution.  "  I  can  not  marry  you." 

"  What ! "  cried  Colonel  Yorke,  in  a  voice 
which  shook  her  to  her  heart's  core.  He 
looked  fixedly  at  her,  and  added  more  calmly : 
"  What  have  I  done  ?  " 

"  You — "  said  Jean,  very  low.  "  You  have 
done  nothing  to  offend  me.  "  You  are  only  too 
good  for  me.  And  so,"  she  went  on  with  a  mere 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  245 

caricature  of  a  smile — "  So  I  have  sent  for  you 
to  tell  you  that  I  can  not  and  will  not  marry 
you,  because  some  one  far  more  worthy  of  you 
than  I  can  ever  be — 

"  My  God !  Jean,  do  you  know  what  you  are 
saying?"  broke  in  Colonel  Yorke  violently. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jean,  her  self-possession  coming 
back  to  face  the  difficulty  she  now  realized. 
"  I  have  reflected  and  I  beg  you  to  hear  me. 
Did  I  care  less  for  you,  as  a  friend — did  I 
esteem  you  less  highly,  I  should  perhaps  have 
let  things  go  on  as  they  are."  She  faltered  a 
moment  here,  but  not  again.  Some  heathen 
notion  of  expiation,  together  with  a  lightning 
flash  of  fear,  playing  about  the  difficulties  of 
her  false  position,  had  perhaps  suggested — cer- 
tainly urged  her  on,  to  this  way  of  escape  from 
telling  Colonel  Yorke  the  whole  truth. 

"  I  accepted  you  on  impulse,  as  I  often  act. 
I  appreciate,  I  esteem,  I  admire  you  ;  but  I 
have  learned  that  some  one  more  worthy  of 
you,  young,  beautiful,  all  you  could  wish,  loves 
you  too."  (This  last  word  escaped  her  una- 
wares.) "  And  I  feel  you  would  be  happier 
freed  from  me.  You  have  not  considered 


246  THE    WHOLE    J^RCTH. 

enough,  perhaps.  I  am  not  young,  not  pliant 
and  yielding — my  character  is  cast  in  a  sharp 
mold.  It  would  be  better  for  you  to  choose 
some  one  more  lovable,  whom  you  could  shape 
to  your  will — she  loves  you  so." 

Colonel  Yorke  listened  in  silence  to  this 
piece  of  feminine  logic,  generosity,  consistency 
and  foolishness,  dismay  gradually  giving  place 
to  surprise,  relief  and  somewhat  sarcastic  amuse- 
ment. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said,  when  she  stopped. 
"  You  have  discovered  that  some  pretty  school 
girl — I  don't  ask  who — does  me  the  honor  to 
fancy  herself  in  love  with  me." 

Jean  started,  realizing  how  nearly  she  had 
betrayed  another  woman's  most  sacred  secret. 
"And  you  are  anxious  to  sacrifice  my  real 
happiness  to  your  very  mistaken  notion  of 
what  that  happiness  ought  to  be.  Well,  Jean," 
he  rose  and  stood  before  her,  "  I  forbid  you  to 
sacrifice  yourself  and  me  to  such  a  Quixotic 
whimsey.  I  love  you,  Jean,  I  am  as  much 
one  with  you  now  as  though  we  had  been 
married  twenty  years.  It  is  useless  to  try 
and  hand  me  over  to  some  other  woman — 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  247 

absolutely  useless  to  try  and  convince  me  that 
she  loves  me  better  than  you  do." 

He  took  her  hand,  bending  over  her  and 
looking  at  her  with  a  proud  glance  of  con- 
scious mastery.  Jean  hesitated,  trembled, 
yielded,  not  with  that  old,  resentful  submis- 
sion, fighting  against  all  that  crossed  her  will, 
but  with  a  delicious  sense  of  rest,  losing  her 
wish  to  resist,  in  a  conviction  that  resist- 
ance was  useless.  And  not  until  Colonel 
Yorke  had  gone  did  she  realize  that  she  had  a 
mauvais  quart  cTheure  before  her,  in  which  she 
must  tell  Sylvia  the  truth — Sylvia,  whose  sad 
little  secret  she  had  so  nearly  told. 

"  But  I  never  will  tell,"  she  thought,  "  cost 
me  what  lies  it  may." 

And  then,  with  that  resolution  to  face  the 
worst  at  once,4so  strange  in  a  nature  so  weak 
as  Jean's,  she  sought  Sylvia  in  her  room. 

The  girl  had  risen  and  dressed  for  dinner. 
Like  Tennyson's  "  Rose  "  in  that  exquisitely 
vague  and  perfectly  satisfying  description  of 
woman's  dress,  she  was  "  gowned  in  pure  white 
which  fitted  to  the  shape." 

She  was  pale  but    less  broken  than    before, 


248  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

and  a  subtle  change  had  come  over  face  and 
manner,  which  startled  Jean  with  a  fear  that 
she  suspected. 

"  Sylvia,"  she  began,  rushing  at  her  task,  as 
she  had  done  with  Colonel  Yorke.  "  Dear 
Sylvia,  I  have  professed  to  love  you  so  much. 
I  do  love  you  so  sincerely,  I  wonder  what  you 
will  say  to  me  ?  Treacherous — false  to  you — 
though  indeed  I  did  not  mean  it.  If  I  had 
only  known !  How  shall  I  ever  tell  you, 
Sylvia?  I  am  engaged  to  Colonel  Yorke." 

She  stopped,  clasping  convulsively  the  cold 
brass  rail  of  the  bed  by  which  she  stood. 
Sylvia  may  have  started  or  grown  impercep- 
tibly pale,  but  she  answered  in  a  steady 
voice : 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Grandison,  please  do  not  distress 
yourself.  It  can  make  no  difference  to  me,  for 
I  am  engaged  to  Mr.  Forbes." 

"What !  "  cried  Jean,  unconsciously  illustrat- 
ing the  poverty  of  our  language  in  vocative 
phrases,  and  then,  with  one  rapid,  backward 
glance,  breathed  a  hearty  mental  thanksgiving 
for  her  failure.  "Thank  heaven!  I  didn't  tell 
him  who  I  meant.  I  didn't  tell  her  how  I 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  249 

tried  to  give  him  up  to  her.  I  needn't  give  him 
up  now,  it  is  all  right." 

While  Sylvia,  unconscious  of  this  swift  flight 
of  thoughts  through  Jean's  mind,  was  saying 
in  her  quiet,  sweet  voice,  "  Yes,  dear  friend, 
you  were  neither  false  nor  treacherous.  You 
have  never  been  any  thing  but  goodness  itself 
to  me.  And  no  one  knows  better  than  I  the 
worth  of  what  you  have  won.  I  don't  know 
how  I  happened  to  tell  you  of  my  unlucky 
fancy.  But  I  do  not  regret  it ;  you  are  too 
noble  for  petty  jealousy,  and  I  would  rather 
you  should  know.  And  now,"  she  added,  after 
a  pause,  "  will  you  not  congratulate  me  ?  For,  in- 
deed, Mr.  Forbes  is  the  kindest,  the  truest 

Twilight  had  fallen,  and  there  was  only  the 
reflection  from  the  steely  plain  of  sea  without, 
and  the  dying  flicker  of  a  fire  within.  Jean 
clasped  Sylvia  in  her  arms,  her  heart  aching 
with  a  terrible  stress  of  feeling,  love,  pity 
and  relief  intermingling ;  and  after  all,  it  was 
Sylvia  who  soothed  her  tears  away,  kissing 
and  caressing  her,  and  saying  in  her  old  gay 
voice  :  "  Come,  let  us  go  to  our  dinner.  I  am 
very  hungry.  And  is  not  Colonel  Yorke  come? 
I  think  I  hear  his  voice  in  the  hall." 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

"  The  misty  verge  of  truth." 

THE  apartment  which  Jean  had  occupied  at 
the  Hotel  Louis-le-Grand,  in  Paris,  con- 
sisted of  five  good-sized  rooms,  and  to  these 
had  been  added,  at  Jean's  request,  a  little 
bachelor  apartment  of  " deux  pieces"  which 
adjoined  it.  The  tiny  salon  of  this  second 
suite  had  so  sunny  and  pleasant  an  outlook 
that  she  had  chosen  to  make  a  morning  room 
of  it,  establishing  there  all  her  little  feminine 
properties,  writing  materials,  dispatch-boxes 
and  pet  books,  and  making  it  the  favorite 
haunt  of  her  solitary  hours.  On  Mrs.  Grandi- 
son's  departure,  however,  Madame  Berthon 
had  re-assigned  it  to  its  original  use,  and  thus, 
in  the  winter  of  1883,  Major  Limber,  being 
once  more  on  his  southern  way  in  quest  of  a 
Colchis  whose  latitude  and  longitude  were  for- 
ever uncertain,  became  the  occupant  of  these 
very  bachelor  quarters. 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  251 

Though  Major  Limber's  mental  cuticle  was 
somewhat  of  the  thickest,  it  could  not  be  said 
that  he  had  forgotten  the  little  episode  at 
Rome,  or  any  of  his  previous  rebuffs  at  Jean's 
hands.  They  rankled  still,  but  his  purpose 
of  getting  even  with  Jean  was  only  in  abey- 
ance, while  all  his  aspirations  turned  toward  an 
especially  bright  and  particular  star  of  an 
heiress ;  a  wandering  star,  whose  somewhat 
erratic  course  from  place  to  place  he  felt  him- 
self obliged  to  follow.  It  was  oddly  character- 
istic of  the  man  that  he  felt  no  ill-will  toward 
Kooystra  for  his  active  hostility.  Rather  ad- 
miring him,  in  fact,  for  his  spirited  defense 
of  Jean,  while  her  less  overt  slights  had  cut 
more  deeply,  and  his  feelings  toward  her 
retained  their  pristine  bitterness  and  malevo- 
lence. 

A  very  slight  thing  served  to  re-awaken  this 
rancor.  Writing  a  note  one  day  at  a  small 
table  in  his  window,  he  felt  hastily  and  impa- 
tiently in  its  single  drawer  for  the  blotter; 
finally,  pulling  out  a  half-sheet  of  paper  which 
lay  crumpled  with  it  at  the  back  of  the 
drawer.  This  scrap  lay  unnoticed  until  his 


252  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

own  letter  was  sealed,  when,  mechanically 
smoothing  it  out  before  laying  it  in  his  blot- 
ting-book,  his  eyes  were  caught  by  a  name 
repeatedly  written  upon  it,  in  varying  combi- 
nations. 

"Jane  Harding,  Jane  Grandison,  Jane  Hard- 
ing Grandison,  Jane  St.  George  Grandison," 
and  at  last  the  signature  : 

"Jean  St.  George  Grandison,"  which  he  had 
happened  more  than  once  to  see — written  in 
that  graceful,  shapely  English  hand  which 
reveals  so  little  of  the  writer's  personality. 
It  was  not  the  unexpected  recognition  how- 
ever which  caused  his  sudden  start  and  vio- 
lent ejaculation,  but  the  conviction  which 
came  to  him  in  a  flash,  that  the  idle  story 
set  afloat  by  him  in  the  very  wantonness  of 
malice  might  be  true. 

Too  evidently  these  hasty  scrawls  were  exper- 
iments in  a  change  of  name  :  whether  to  a 
cognomen  legally  assumed  in  the  ordinary 
way  by  marriage,  or  as  he  had  hinted,  as- 
sumed of  malice  prepense,  and  for  purposes  of 
deception — the  scrap  of  paper  could  not  tell 
him.  But  his  wish  was  so  eager  to  father 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  253 

the  thought  that  he  had  little  difficulty  in 
believing  in  the  accuracy  of  his  random  shot, 
still  less  in  resolving  to  follow  up  this  clew 
to  its  utmost  possibilities  for  Jean's  discom- 
fiture. But  with  all  his  unscrupulous  tenacity 
of  purpose  Major  Limber  was  in  no  hurry. 
He  was  satisfied  to  have  the  mills  of  the  gods 
grind  slowly,  and  forgetting  the  possibility  of 
ever  becoming  grist  to  these  mills  himself, 
he  looked  upon  them  as  convenient  instru- 
ments providentially  provided  to  reduce  his 
enemies  to  powder,  while  he  presided  com- 
placently at  the  hopper.  What  were  his  ene- 
mies' views  as  to  the  purposes  of  the  gods, 
he  did  not  stop  to  consider,  sharing  that  for- 
tunate habit  of  thought,  whereby  most  people 
are  enabled  to  believe  in  a  just  punishment 
for  other  people  and  a  well-merited  reward 
for  one's  self.  Just  now  there  was  metal  more 
attractive  in  that  southern  land  toward  which 
he  was  traveling,  full  of  hopes  of  final 
achievement  in  the  shape  of  an  advanta- 
geous marriage  with  a  fresh-caught  and  pre- 
ternaturally  silly  American  girl.  So,  content- 
ing himself  with  a  cursory  search  for.  more 


254  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

traces  of  Jean  he  secured  his  one  bit  of  evi- 
dence very  carefully  in  an  inner  fold  of  his 
pocket-book  and  took  his  way  southward  with 
a  pleasant  consciousness  of  power  in  reserve. 
In  the  pleasant  winter  cities  where  he  had 
meant  to  carry  on  a  triumphant  campaign, 
Major  Limber  was  presently  aware  of  a  subtle 
breath  of  antagonism,  an  influence  which  baffled 
him  at  every  turn.  The  Duchess  of  Saintsbury 
had  begun  it  with  one  of  her  brief  uncompro- 
mising remarks.  Lady  Fenimore  had  cut  him 
publicly  in  full  sight  of  the  people  to  whom  he 
had  boasted  of  her  intimacy,  and  at  one  sweep 
all  the  introductions  to  titled  people  which 
had  been  the  sop  to  his  heiress's  Cerberus- 
mother,  became  impossible. 

The  duchess'  words  were  too  explicit  to  leave 
him  in  ignorance  of  their  meaning.  "  No  one," 
she  said,  "  could  safely  receive  a  person  who 
spread  scandalous  reports  about  his  hosts." 
And  recognizing  the  futility  of  such  a  fight 
against  fate,  Major  Limber,  with  rage  in  his 
heart,  gave  up  the  game.  At  Nice,  whither  he 
tent  his  steps,  in  company  with  some  conge- 
nial souls,  his  anger  for  awhile  was  forgotten  in 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  255 

the  tide  of  somewhat  unusual  success  at  Monte 
Carlo  and  various  Cercles,  from  which  he 
carried  away  consolation  enough,  in  the  shape 
of  certain  notes  and  checks,  to  render  the 
immediate  future  rather  bright.  Here  too,  Jie 
made  carefully  guarded  inquiries  among  the 
few  who  were  too  easy-going  or  too  ill-informed 
to  cut  him,  only  to  find  that  none  of  Jean's 
acquaintances,  however  great  the  degree  of 
intimacy  they  claimed,  were  able  to  tell  him 
who  she  had  been  before  they  knew  her  as 
Mrs.  Grandison.  A  vagueness  hung  over  her 
previous  history  which  encouraged  his  suspi- 
cions, and  the  news  of  her  marriage  to  Colonel 
Yorke  roused  to  bitterest  activity  his  pur- 
poses of  revenge. 

At  each  fresh  proof  that  his  enemy  was 
flourishing  "like  a  green  bay-tree,"  Major 
Limber,  being  unacquainted  with  the  denun- 
ciatory merits  of  the  Psalms,  contented  himself 
with  strong  language  of  a  secular  kind,  and 
with  putting  his  detective  powers  seriously  to 
work  for  Jean's  discomfiture. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

» 

"  No  falsehood  can  endure." 

"T)  ETURNING  to  London  in  the  merry 
1 V  month  of  May,  with  his  purse  so  well 
furnished  as  to  absolve  him,  for  the  moment, 
from  the  disagreeable  necessity  of  pleasing 
other  people,  Major  Limber  had  the  pleasure 
of  finding  that  other  merry  person,  Mrs.  Mer- 
riam,  established  there  in  pretty  lodgings,  and 
great  content.  These  two  allies  suited  one 
another  perfectly,  and  had  long  ago  agreed 
that  had  one  or  the  other  been  less  impecu- 
nious, a  marriage  between  them  would  have 
been  the  happiest  thing  for  both.  As  much  love 
as  he  was  capable  of  feeling  for  any  one  Major 
Limber  bestowed  on  the  vivacious  little  widow, 
who  charmed  his  senses,  inflamed  his  ambition 
and  encouraged  all  his  tastes  without  any  un- 
due requirements  on  the  score  of  strict  morality 
As  much  affection  as  her  shallow  heart  could 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  2$"J 

hold  Mrs.  Merrian  had  given  to  the  handsome, 
unscrupulous  vau-rien,  whose  Irish  ardor  and 
perfectly  selfish  fondness  fully  satisfied  her 
unexacting  nature.  But  beyond  an  offensive 
and  defensive  alliance  of  a  superficial  kind, 
neither  one  was  sufficiently  disinterested  or 
sufficiently  carried  away  by  passion  to  go,  and 
they  had  remained  for  several  years  with  much 
satisfaction  in  their  somewhat  ambiguous  posi- 
tion of  "  great  allies,  and  firm  friends." 

One  warm  day  in  May,  Major  Limber  and 
his  well-met  companion  were  making  their  way 
through  the  brilliant  mob  which  thronged, 
the  rooms  of  Burlington  House:  she,  happy 
in  the  contented  consciousness  of  a  becom- 
ing bonnet ;  he,  taking  an  Irishman's  genu- 
ine pleasure  in  escorting  a  pretty  and  well- 
dressed  woman  in  a  conspicuous  manner 
through  a  not  unobserving  crowd. 

"  There  is  a  portrait  here  I  want  to  show 
you,  done  by  a  man  I  know,"  said  Major  Lim- 
ber, unable  to  overcome,  even  in  Kooystra's 
case,  his  propensity  for  claiming  acquaintance 
with  celebrities.  "  Nothing  was  so  much 
talkad  of  at  the  Salon,  year  before  last, 


258  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

Kooystra  might  have  gotten  a  good  price  for 
it  and  taken  any  place  he  pleased.  But  he's 
odd,  poor  fellow,  infatuated  about  the  woman, 
and  positively  refuses  either  to  sell  the  picture 
or  to  paint  any  thing  else." 

"How  affecting !"  said  Mrs.  Merriam,  with 
her  little  artificial  laugh.  "  Pray,  does  the 
original  persist  in  being  hard-hearted?  Must 
he  content  himself  with  her  counterfeit  pre- 
sentment? " 

"  The  original  has  just  married  another  man 
— a  rich  man,  though  she  has  plenty  of  money 
herself." 

"  Horrid  thing !  "  said  Mrs.  Merriam.  "  Why 
didn't  she  leave  him  for  some  one  who 
really  needed  him.  But  stop  !  "  she  went  on, 
seizing  his  arm,  "  there's  a  face  I  know.  Yes 
— exaggerated — but  it  must  be  !  Why,  Major 
Limber,  there's  a  picture  of  that  haughty  piece 
who  crossed  with  us  in  the  Servia.  Harding 
was  her  name.  It  may  be  a  fancy  picture,  but 
she  sat  for  it." 

Major  Limber  looked  up  and  unrestrained 
by  her  presence  uttered  an  oath  under  his 
breath, 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  259 

"  By  G — ,  it's  the  very  woman.  That's 
Kooystra's  picture  of  Mrs.  Grandison  !  Lyssa  ! 
I  must  talk  to  you !  Let's  get  out  of  this." 

Mrs.  Merriam  was  too  wise  a  woman  to 
oppose  a  man  in  such  mad  earnest,  and  they 
were  quickly  in  a  hansom,  flying  along  the 
Knightsbridge  road  toward  Kensington  Gore, 
where  Mrs.  Merriam  had  set  up  her  somewhat 
heathenish  household  gods.  Major  Limber 
could  not  wait,  but  poured  out  a  hasty  history 
of  the  two  past  winters,  setting  down,  it  may 
be,  a  good  deal  in  malice  toward  others, 
but  certainly  extenuating  nothing  in  his 
own  conduct,  which  he  left  to  Mrs.  Merri- 
am's  sympathetic  comprehension.  The  scrap 
of  paper,  however,  was  too  precious  to  be 
taken  from  its  hiding-place  until  they  were 
seated  in  her  drawing-room,  when  he  displayed 
it  with  more  diffidence  about  its  value  than 
he  had  felt  in  first  finding  it. 

"  This  proves  they  are  the  same  woman,*' 
Lyssa  said,  thoughtfully.  She  had  listened 
with  burning  cheeks  and  the  fullest  sympathy 
to  the  recital  of  his  wrongs.  "  But  it  does  not 
prove  that  she  has  no  right  te  the  name  of 


260  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

Grandison,  though,  like  you,  I  strongly  sus- 
pect her.  Let  me  think.  We  crossed  in  April, 
1880.  When  was  she  at  this  hotel?  Surely, 
you  looked  at  the  register?" 

"  I  did,"  answered  Limber.  "The  first  entry 
was  in  August,  1880.  You  see  I  have  it  all 
written  down.  But  I  failed  to  find  the  name 
Harding,  though  I  searched  back  a  couple 
of  years.  But  it  never  occurred  to  me  to 
associate  her  with  the  girl  on  the  steamer, 
though  I  clearly  remember  her  now.  It  is 
unmistakable  ;  it  must  be  the  same  woman." 

"  //  is"  said  Lyssa,  positively.  "  But  be- 
tween April  and  August,  1880,  I  am  afraid  she 
might  have  had  plenty  of  time  to  be  married 
and-widowed.  Did  you  happen  to  learn  whether 
she  went  there  a  widow  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  in  the  deepest  crape." 

"  And,  you  know,  sometimes  those  foreign 
register  have  a  column  of  antecedents  ;  did 
you  by  chance  see  where  she  came  from  ?  " 

Major  Limber  turned  the  piece  of  paper  and 
pointed. 

"  Le  1 6  Aout  1880,  Mme.  E.  St.  George  Gran- 
dison, de  Loifdres.  Arrivee  de  Calais  a  qua- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  261 

tre  heures  et  demie.     Appartement  F.  au  pre- 
mier." 

"  That  is  right  !  my  best  pupil,"  said  Lyssa, 
approvingly,  stretching  out  to  him 

— "  A  hand 

White,  delicate,  dimpled,  warm,  languid  and  bland." 

"But  Calais!"  thoughtfully.  "Then  she 
came  from  Dover  ?  " 

'"  Ha  !  by  Jove,"  cried  Major  Limber,  drop- 
ping her  hand  and  rising  in  great  excitement. 
"  That  reminds  me  of  something !  I  was  at 
Dover,  with  Carnegie,  July  of  that  same  year, 
and  I  now  remember  seeing  Miss  Harding," — 
with  a  sneer — "or  Mrs.  Grandison,  whichever 
she  was,  on  the  pier,  in  mourning,"  hjs  added 
reflectively  ;  "  but  she  had  on  a  hat  and  no  long 
veil.  Do  widows  wear  hats  ?  " 

Mrs  Merriam  laughed. 

"If  it  suits  them,  you  simpleton;  and  if 
they  are  becoming.  She  was  in  mourning  on 
the  steamer,  and  she  was  Miss  Harding.  So 
that  tells  nothing.  But  July — are  you  sure  ? 
Of  course,  she  might  have  been  married  after 
she  landed  in  April  and  have  lost  her  husband 
between  that  and  August.  Grandison  is  a  good 


262  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

name.  If  such  a  person  ever  existed  he  can 
scarcely  have  died  and  left  no  trace  of  him- 
self." 

"  If  the  name  should  be  in  '  Landed  Gentry,'  " 
suggested  Major  Limber,  "  or  his  death  in  an  old 
file  of  the  Times — or  I  might  make  some  inqui- 
ries round  about  her  place  in  Somerset." 

"  You  must  give  me  time  to  think,"  said 
Lyssa  with  wide,  shining  eyes  fixed  on  him, 
but  which  did  not  see  him.  "  I  have  an  idea,  I 
think,  by  which  we  may  turn  this  thing  to  our 
mutual  advantage.  For  whatever  else  she  is, 
this  woman  seems  to  be  really  rich.  But  first 
we  must  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  affair  ;  you 
must  learn  if  such  a  person  ever  existed  as 
Eustace  St.  George  Grandison,  and  when  he 
died.  Go,"  she  added,  starting  up  with  spark- 
ling eyes,  "  find  out  all  you  can,  and  come 
back  quickly.  Indeed,  Octavius,  if  what  we 
suspect  turn  out  true,  you  and  I  can  make  a 
grand  stroke." 

"  You  know,  whatever  we  can  do  together  I 
will  do  with  my  whole  soul,"  he  said  eagerly. 

"  Go — go  !  "  she  cried,  pushing  him  from  her. 
11  This  is  no  time  for  sentiment,  but  if  we  sue- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  263 

ceed,  great  shall  be  your  reward.  I  always 
hated  the  woman,"  she  added  dryly. 

On  Major  Limber's  next  coming  he  brought 
with  him  a  copy  of  a  notice  in  the  Times  of 
August  2Oth,  1879. 

"At  21  Marine  Parade,  Dover — of  fever, 
Eustace  St.  George  Grandison,  only  son  of 
Everard  Temple  St.  George  Grandison,  of 
Danesfort,  Yorkshire,  and  Temple-Grandison, 
County  of  Sussex,  Esquire,  in  the  2/th  year 
of  his  age.  R.  I.  P." 

"  Dover,"  said  Mrs.  Merriam,  in  a  consider- 
ing tone,  "  and  you  saw  her  there.  It  all 
hangs  together  so  far.  Danesfort  and- Temple- 
Grandison.  Why,  this  says  nothing  about 
Manycotes,  but  you  say  you  were  there. 
Could  it  have  been  a  hired  house  ?  " 

"  No,  for  she  used  to  speak  of  it  as  her  own 
at  Miss  Masters',  where  I  first  met  her.  It 
had  been  let,  and  the  lease  had  just  fallen  in." 

"  That  was  in  1881,  the  year  her  pictures  were 
first  exhibited,"  said  Lyssa.  "Well,  it  might 
have  come  to  Mr.  Grandison  from  his  mother. 
Did  you  learn  who  she  was?" 

"  A    Miss  Ormond,  of  County  Waterford." 


264  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Merriam,  slowly  ;  "  that 
it  will  be  quite  worth  your  while  to  make  a 
little  trip  to  Manycotes." 

Which  Major  Limber  accordingly  did,  with 
little  result,  but  much  satisfaction  to  him- 
self, his  duties  consisting  in  making  love  to 
a  pretty  housemaid,  who,  having  been  one  of 
the  disaffected,  under  Pritchett's  displeasure, 
was  very  ready  to  chatter  about  her  late 
mistress.  Beyond  the  fact  that  Manycotes 
had  been  bought  by  Jean  from  a  bankrupt 
stock-broker,  and  that  previous  to  her  com- 
ing no  one  in  the  country  side  had  heard 
the  name  of  Grandison,  Major  Limber  went 
away  as  wise  as  he  came. 

Mrs.  Merriam  was  disappointed  and  annoyed. 
Whatever  revelations  she  had  hoped  for  from 
current  county-gossip,  having  failed  her,  she 
began  to  fear  that  Jean's  marriage  had  been 
genuine,  and  she  showed  her  vexation  so 
plainly  as  to  surprise  Major  Limber.  He  was 
scarcely  prepared  to  have  her  resent  his 
wrongs  in  so  vehement  fashion,  and  came,  of 
course,  to  the  conclusion  most  flattering  to 
his  vanity.  But  Mrs.  Merriam  was  not  alto- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  265 

gether  so  disinterested  as  it  pleased  him  to 
fancy.  She  had  convinced  herself  of  certain 
advantages  to  accrue  to  her  when  she  had 
gained  a  hold  over  a  woman  in  what  she 
imagined  Jean's  position  to  be,  and  to  gain 
this  power  she  was  ready  to  go  any  length. 

"  It  is  very  annoying,"  she  said,  petulantly. 
"  I  am  so  thoroughly  convinced  myself  that 
there  is  something  wrong  about  the  woman, 
but  I  can't  threaten  her  with  exposure  unless  I 
have  proof  of  something  to  expose." 

She  impatiently  crumpled  and  ran  over  the 
documents  in  the  case:  the  half-sheet  with  the 
signatures ;  Major  Limber's  notes  from  the 
hotel  register,  from  the  Landed  Gentry,  and 
from  the  Times.  The  last  she  re-read  with 
an  air  of  perplexity. 

"Eustace  St.  George  Grandison,  R.  I.  P. 
What  on  earth  does  that  mean?" 

"  Requiescat  in  pace ;  he  or  his  family  must 
be  Catholics,"  replied  Major  Limber,  whose 
hereditary  faith  sat  lightly  upon  him. 

"August  i6th,  1879,  in  the  2/th  year  of  his 
age,"  she  read,  musingly.  "  Much  too  young 
for  her — she's  thirty-seven  if  she's  a  day. 


266  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

What!  1879!"  and  Lyssa  sprang  to  her  fe£t 
with  sudden  energy.  "Why,  she  called  her- 
self Harding  in  1880,  when  this  man  had  been 
dead  a  year !  I  told  you  so.  She  is  an 
impostor,  and  we  shall  expose  her,  or  receive 
a  reward  for  our  silence." 

But  Major  Limber  was  too  dispirited  by 
recent  failures  to  share  her  elation.  "  It  was 
probably  a  secret  marriage,"  he  said,  in  a 
resigned  tone.  "  He  was  just  the  sort  of  fel- 
low to  do  it.  And  that  may  have  caused  the 
quarrel  with  his  family." 

"Quarrel!"  cried  Lyssa  briskly.  "  I  didn't 
know  of  any  quarrel.  But  a  secret  marriage  is 
discreditable  enough,  especially  if  it  is  not 
announced  until  after  the  husband  is  dead  and 
can't  explain.  And  his  people  are  much  more 
likely  to  have  quarreled  with  him  for  not  mar- 
rying her.  Come,  this  is  worth  a  trip  to 
Dover — and  this  time  I  shall  go  myself." 

Accordingly,  Mrs.  Merriam  went  to  Dover 
and  spent  a  not  unagreeable  week  at  21  Marine 
Parade,  where  she  had  no  difficulty  in  wiling 
from  Mrs.  Steele,  not  only  the  complete  history 
of  Eustace  Grandison's  illness  and  death,  but 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  267 

an  account  of  her  subsequent  lodger,  Miss 
Harding,  to  whom  "  money  was  as  dross,  ma'am, 
— if  you'll  believe  me,"  and  who  had  been  so  re- 
markably interested  in  all  that  concerned  de- 
ceased, that  Mrs.  Steele  in  the  fullness  of  her 
heart  had  given  her  his  photograph.  The  curi- 
ous circumstance  of  his  "  sister's  "  visit,  and 
her  strong  resemblance  to  "  Miss  Harding," 
threw  Mrs.  Merriam  for  a  moment  into  the 
depths  of  despair,  from  which  she  was  rescued 
by  Major  Limber's  assurance  that  there  was  a 
sister.  Her  hand  undoubtedly  strengthened 
by  these  newly  acquired  facts,  Mrs.  Merriam 
next  invited  Major  Limber  to  accompany  her 
upon  a  visit  to  Temple-Grandison,  a  show-place 
in  Sussex,  where  they  had  the  good-fortune  to 
hear  a  full  account  of  the  quarrel,  originating 
in  Eustace's  secession  from  the  church  of  his 
fathers,  and  also  to  see,  at  a  considerable  dis- 
tance, "  Rose  Aileen  Ormond,  only  daughter 
and  sole  heiress  of  Everard  Temple,  etc.,"  and 
to  recognize  for  themselves  in  the  slight,  sad, 
dark-featured  girl,  sufficient  resemblance  to 
Jean's  mature  beauty  to  form  a  foundation  for 
Mrs.  Steele's  romantic  conjectures. 


268  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

Another  brief  excursion,  not  trying  to  old 
sailors  like  these,  across  the  channel  to  Calais, 
revealed  the  fact  that  the  lady  who  had  quitted 
Marine  Parade  on  the  morning  of  August  i6th, 
1880,  as  Jane  Harding,  had  arrived  in  Calais 
some  two  hours  later  as  "  Mrs.  E.  St.  George 
Grandison,"  and  had  so  inscribed  herself  on  the 
register  of  the  hotel. 

And  with  this  piece  of  evidence  Mrs.  Mer- 
riam  declared  herself  content.  "  It  is  not  abso- 
lutely conclusive."  she  said  "  but  we  may 
find  out  something  more  in  America ;  and  at 
all  events  I  am  now  satisfied  that  there  is  some- 
thing queer  about  it,  whether  secret  marriage 
or  no  marriage  at  all ;  and  with  what  we  may 
be  able  to  pick  up  here  and  there,  I  feel  sure 
we  shall  give  Mrs.  Yorke — is  that  her  present 
name? — something  of  a  fright." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"  For  truth  is  stronger  than  a  lie, 
And  righteousness  than  wrong." 

MEANWHILE,  the  first  summer  of  Jean's 
married  life  had  passed  in  idyllic  fashion  ; 
her  social  ambitions  for  the  moment  forgotten, 
her  morbid  self-contemplation  put  aside,  she 
was  for  a  time  supremely,  perfectly  happy. 

What  Colonel  Yorke  had  so  boldly  asserted 
of  himself,  Jean  on  her  part  felt  to  be  literally 
true,  namely :  that  he  was  "  the  other  half  of 
her  soul." 

She  loved  with  utter,  unreserved  devotion, 
the  pent-up  passion  and  tenderness  of  her 
repressed  girlhood  lavishing  itself  on  the 
choice  of  her  womanhood. 

Jean  was  not  of  the  women  who  can  love 
blindly,  closing  her  eyes  to  faults  and  follies ; 
and  she  rejoiced  in  each  day's  conviction  of 
Keppel  Yorke's  worth,  each  day's  added  proof 


270  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

that  his  love  was  of  the  noble  sort  which 
blesses  him  that  gives  and  her  that  takes. 

For  this,  then,  this  complete,  intense  and  full 
existence,  this  happiness  which  seemed  so 
natural  and  so  wonderful,  Jean  felt  that  she 
had  been  born.  It  is  a  very  common  feeling, 
most  people  accepting  happiness  and  pros- 
perity as  their  due,  and  falling  out  with  fate  as 
if  life's  little  contrarieties  and  great  sorrows 
had  fallen  to  their  lot  quite  by  mistake. 

Jean  now  felt  that  she  had  attained  ;  that 
henceforth,  all  things  being  as  she  had  planned 
them  from  her  youth,  no  further  change  was  to 
come,  and  all  she  had  to  do  was  to  enjoy  life. 
Under  this  impression  it  was  easy  for  her  to 
make  her  husband  happy,  responding  to  all  his 
demands  with  the  best  that  was  in  her. 

And  Yorke  was  happy — as  happy  as  any 
man  is  likely  to  be  after  he  is  forty  years  old. 
No  deeper,  truer,  fonder  love  was  ever  given 
to  woman  than  he  now,  in  the  maturity  of  his 
manhood,  bestowed  on  Jean  ;  but  the  days  of 
dreams  come  true  were  over  for  him,  and  in  all 
his  happiness  there  was  an  undertone  of  disap- 
pointment. 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  271 

And  now,  from  out  her  very  happiness,  came 
the  first  shock  to  Jean's  utter  self-satisfaction  ; 
now,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  began  to 
think;  for  the  morbid  breedings,  in  which  she 
stood  alone,  with  a  world  of  imagined  enemies 
arrayed  against  her,  were  not  worthy  the  name  of 
thought.  Now  an  added  insight,  justice,  reason, 
mingled  for  the  first  time  with  her  reflections  ; 
her  husband's  character,  which  she  studied  with 
loving  scrutiny  as  it  unfolded  itself  before  her, 
taught  her  new  standards,  awoke  in  her  new 
ideals.  It  can  hardly  be  said  that  her  conscience 
awoke  in  her — rather  that  she  slowly  began  to 
acquire  a  conscience  ;  feeling  first  an  uneasy 
consciousness  of  her  secret — a  growing  regret, 
a  wild  desire  to  be  freed  from  it.  She  began 
to  weigh  her  conduct  in  the  light  of  her  hus- 
band's upright  judgment,  to  see  the  "  harmless 
deception  "  as  he  would  see  it ;  she  trembled 
lest  he  should  learn  that  she  had  deceived 
him,  yet  longed  unspeakably  for  courage  to 
tell  him  all.  And  so  began  to  torment  her- 
self with  fancied  changes  in  his  manner,  cold- 
ness and  distrust  replacing  the  first  fervor 
of  his  devotion ;  dawning  suspicion  in  the 


272  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

eyes  which  studied  her  with  such  loving  in- 
tentness. 

Himself  absolutely  straightforward,  and  of  a 
nature  singularly  direct  and  serene,  Colonel 
Yorke  was  perfectly  unsuspicious.  That  the 
woman  he  loved  could  do  wrong  was  incon- 
ceivable to  him  ;  that  Jean,  in  living  with 
whom  he  each  day  found  some  new  trait  to 
love,  who  grew,  day  by  day,  more  responsive, 
sweeter,  dearer,  more  entirely  his  own — that 
she  should  have  deceived  him  in  the  lightest 
thing  was  as  incredible  and  monstrous  as  to 
suspect  her  of  mere  vulgar  infidelity.  Yet, 
deep  down  in  his  consciousness,  was  a  tiny 
pin-prick  of  unacknowledged  disappointment. 
When  they  had  been  first  engaged  he  had 
expected  her  to  allude,  of  her  own  motion,  to 
the  man  who  had  been  not  only  her  husband, 
but  his  friend.  But  she  had  never  spoken  of 
him,  and  Yorke  had  waited,  fancying,  when 
they  were  married,  the  confidence  would  come. 
They  were  married,  still  she  was  silent,  and 
still  he  possessed  his  soul  in  patience  through 
those  first  days  of  married  life  when  so  many 
reserves  are  cast  aside,  so  many  still  exist ; 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  273 

where  there  is  a  shyness  born  of  newness, 
combating  the  instinct  to  reveal  the  inner- 
most core  of  the  heart. 

"  By  and  by,"  he  thought,  "  when  we  are 
more  truly  one,  she  will  know  that  I  have  no 
jealousy  in  my  heart,  and  the  confidence  will 
come." 

No  faintest  trace  of  his  disappointment  ap- 
peared in  his  face,  nor  did  Jean  reveal,  even 
to  his  eyes,  the  gnawing  anxiety  which  began 
to  possess  her,  remaining  outwardly  serene  as 
always. 

But  what  She  was  successful  in  concealing 
from  her  husband's  loving  watchfulness,  other 
eyes  discovered.  In  Kooystra's  presence, 
Jean  relaxed  the  well-kept  guard  over  her 
features,  and  the  shadow  which  had  fallen 
upon  her  was  plain  to  the  young  man,  who 
watched  her  with  dog-like  devotion.  The 
comparison  is  perhaps  inapt ;  it  may  be 
questioned  whether  dogs  ever  find  them- 
selves precisely  in  Kooystra's  position,  of 
loving  ardently  some  one  of  whom  they 
disapprove,  their  love  seeming  generally  to  be 
blindly  given,  without  much  reference  to  the 


274  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

worth  of  the  object.  In  the  relation  between 
dog  and  man  it  seems  probable  that  "  Brutus  " 
(man)  is  ever  "Caesar's  angel,"  and  yet,  who 
can  say  whether  Brutus  is  not  loved  in  spite  of 
his  faults,  and  not  in  ignorance  of  them. 
Speculation  is  idle  as  to  what  goes  on  in  the 
doggish  minds  which  look  out  at  us  with  such 
wistful,  kindly  glances  ;  but  with  some  dogs 
the  conviction  is  irresistible  that  here  is  a  kind 
soul,  of  deeper  knowledge  and  insight,  of  truer 
and  sounder  philosophy  than  ours,  loving  us 
in  spite  of  our  meanness  and  falsity  and  fickle- 
ness, and  taking  comfort  in  the  thought  that 
we  shall,  in  some  future  four-footed  existence, 
be  given  time  and  opportunity  to  become  as 
loyal,  as  loving  and  faithful  as  they. 

Kooystra's  attachment,  then,  was  dog-like, 
at  least  in  its  constancy,  and  though  he  felt 
himself  a  cur  for  doubting  her — yet  the  doubts 
would  recur.  He  was  unmanned,  idle,  broken, 
doing  no  work,  letting  one  miserable  day  drift 
after  the  other,  only  longing  to  be  near  Jean. 

An  unuttered  attachment  may  be  permitted 
to  exist,  where  one  declared  must  be  banished, 
so  he  could  see  Jean  often,  torturing  himself  in 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  275 

her  presence,  first  by  her  happiness,  and  then 
by  the  shadow  of  sorrow  which  he  saw  creep- 
ing over  her  face.  In  her  presence,  despising 
himself  for  his  idleness  and  promising  himself 
to  amend — in  her  absence,  feverishly  anxious 
to  be  with  her  again,  and  falling,  inert,  into  his 
old  habit  of  bitter  dreaming. 

The  summer  had  gone  by,  and  only  in  Octo- 
ber had  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Yorke  returned  to 
the  Newport  Manycotes ;  the  first  breath  of 
winter  had  come  before  they  yielded  to  the 
necessity  of  providing  for  themselves  a  city 
home.  It  was  the  middle  of  November,  when 
Yorke,  parting  from  Jean  for  the  first  time 
since  their  marriage,  left  her  alone  at  Many- 
cotes.  Jean  wrote  immediately  to  beg  a  visit 
from  Sylvia,  but  Sylvia  could  not  now  be  long 
away  from  Mrs.  Wyndham,  whose  health  was 
rapidly  failing,  and  could  only  promise  a  stay 
of  a  single  night,  followed  by  a  flying  visit 
from  Forbes  when  he  came  to  escort  her  home 
on  the  following  day.  On  the  morning  of  the 
day  on  which  Sylvia  was  expected,  the  follow- 
ing letter  was  placed  in  Jean's  hand  : 


276  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

NOV.   I2TH,  1 8— . 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  YORKE: — This  letter  will 
scarcely  have  reached  you  when  I  too  shall  be 
with  you,  but  still  it  must  be  written,  for  I  am 
so  unhappy,  and  it  is  so  much  easier  to  write 
than  to  speak.  It  seems  strange,  wrong,  incon- 
ceivable, that  I  should  turn  to  you — but  you 
know  my  secret — my  mother  is  so  ill,  I  dare 
not  add  a  featherweight  to  her  burthen.  You 
are  the  one  whom,  next  to  my  mother,  I  love 
and  honor — to  whom  my  heart  turns  in  joy 
and  sorrow.  My  love  for  you  did  not  change 
when  the  man  I  cared  for  chose  you.  You  are 
too  noble,  dear  friend,  for  jealousy.  You  have 
proved  yourself  above  every  thing  petty  and 
ignoble.  And  indeed,  there  is  nothing  for  you 
to  fear.  No  hint  of  disloyalty  enters  into  the 
feeling  I  now  have  for  your  husband.  That  I 
did\ov&  him  you  know,  but  believe  me  I  have 
conquered  myself  too  truly  for  you  to  distrust 
me.  That  is  not  my  trouble  now.  I  have 
taken  your  advice.  I  have  turned  again  to  my 
art,  "  the  tender  mistress,"  as  you  once  told  me, 
whom  neglect  does  not  estrange.  I  have 
won  back  my  first  ardor,  my  right  hand  has 
regained  its  cunning,  I  am  happy  when  I  work. 
But  I  am  not  free.  The  sense  of  bondage 
grows  upon  me.  I  can  not  tell  how  I  drifted 
into  my  engagement — it  was  a  mad  folly.  No  ! 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  277 

what  a  nonsensical  phrase  to  apply  to  any  thing 
so  indifferent,  so  commonplace.  I  wrote  a  fool- 
ish letter  which  was  misunderstood.  I  was 
unhappy  and  Ian  loved  me  very  dearly  ;  such 
love  is  sweet  to  a  sore  heart.  I  could  not  bear 
to  grieve  him  by  telling  him  he  had  misinter- 
preted my  letter,  and  I  found  myself  commit- 
ted before  I  realized  it.  You  will  scorn  me  for 
my  weakness,  but  few  women  are  so  nobly 
planned  as  you  ;  so  securely  placed  above  all 
deceit  and  falsity.  Do  not  despise  me — help 
me — tell  me — what  shall  I  do?  Ian  is  so  good, 
it  breaks  my  heart  to  pain  him,  yet  is  it  not 
wrong,  untrue,  unfair,  to  marry  a  man  whom  I 
do  not  love  with  my  whole  heart,  even  though 
that  heart  is  swept  clear  of  the  least  remem- 
brance of  another  whom  you  know  worthy  of 
all  love  ?  Dear  Mrs.  Yorke,  dear  friend,  we 
shall  have  but  a  few  hours  together  ;  counsel 
me,  tell  me  what  to  do. 

Your  loving,  troubled 
SYLVIA. 

Jean  dropped  the  letter  with  a  bitter  sigh  ; 
her  heart  ached  for  Sylvia's  trouble,  but  she 
felt  more  keenly  the  unconscious  reproach  in 
the  girl's  sad  little  appeal.  What  were  Sylvia's 
simple  griefs,  the-  light  deceit  her  pure  con- 


2 78  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

science  magnified  to  a  sin,  compared  with  the 
lie  she  was  living?  She  noble,  she  worthy  ! 
Jean  felt  herself  crushed  by  the  sudden  reve- 
lation of  how  unworthy,  how  base  she  really 
was.  Truth  had  never  seemed  so  desirable, 
falsehood  so  detestable  as  now,  when  in  read- 
ing Sylvia's  estimate  of  her,  she  felt  how  fatally 
she  lacked  every  noble  quality  the  girl  loved 
her  for.  It  was  the  sharpest  reproach,  the 
keenest  thing — how  would  Sylvia  regard  her 
if  she  knew,  and  how — oh !  much  worse,  how 
would  her  husband  look  upon  the  "  harmless 
deception  "  ;  she  started  up  and  paced  the  room 
in  a  sort  of  frenzy  ;  flung  the  window  wide, 
but  the  rushing  wind  and  damp  air  suffocated 
her,  and  she  turned  to  escape,  as  always,  out 
of  doors,  when  Sylvia  entered.  "  Sylvia !  " 
she  cried,  clasping  the  girl's  cold  hands. 
"  Tell  him  the  truth — now — here.  However 
hard  it  may  be,  do  not  deceive  him  any  longer, 
for  my  sake,  for  your  own — for  any  sake,  tell 
him  the  truth." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"  What  is  truth  ?    A  staff  rejected." 

THE  small  practicalities  of  every-day  life 
which  so  constantly  intrude  to  mar  heroics 
were  not  wanting  now.  For  after  Sylvia, 
spurred  on  by  Jean's  passionate  apostrophe  to 
the  only  thing  she  felt  was  right,  had,  in  the 
kindest  words,  told  Forbes  her  story,  after  a 
trying  interview  which  left  her  unnerved  and 
sore  with  pity — but  free— she  awoke  to  the 
awkward  fact  that  she  had  lost  her  escort. 
Sylvia  had  not  Jean's  self-reliant  strain  ;  a  life 
of  much  petting  and  observance  had  made  her 
very  dependent,  and  it  was  with  a  sort  of  serio- 
comic dismay  that  she  contemplated  the  long 
railway  journey  now  to  be  taken  alone.  For 
Forbes,  though  too  generous  for  reproaches  or 
bitter  feeling,  was  as  nearly  heart-broken  as  is 
possible  for  a  young  man  of  this  nineteenth 
Christian  century,  and,  unable  for  the  moment 


28o  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

to  keep  up  appearances,  he  had  uttered  a 
choked  and  dismal  farewell  and  rushed  away 
by  the  first  boat. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Jean,  in  reply  to  Sylvia's 
distressed  appeal.  "  Paul  Kooystra  is  going 
to  town  to-morrow ;  your  mother  will  not 
object  to  your  going  with  him?  If  you  think 
she  will  I  can  send  my  maid." 

But  Sylvia  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  the 
idea  of  Kooystra's  companionship,  and  Jean, 
having  made  a  statement  entirely  unwarranted 
by  the  facts,  in  the  full  conviction  that  her  will 
was  Kooystra's  law,  now  sent  him  a  hasty 
warning  "  to  make  it  so." 

"  I  have  undertaken  for  you,  that  you  will 
escort  Miss  Wyndham  to  town  to-morrow 
morning,  but  pray  let  her  think  that  you  had 
meant  to  go,  otherwise  I  fear  she  will  refuse  to 
trouble  you." 

Kooystra  read,  with  a  sigh  for  two  lost  days 
of  the  sea,  but  never  dreamed  of  disobeying, 
and  Jean  was  once  more  alone  with  her 
thoughts,  her  happiness  or  unhappiness,  which- 
ever it  was,  and  her  dreams  of  Yorke's  return. 

Her   enthusiasm    for   truth    had    somewhat 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  281 

abated  ;  the  little  germ  of  conscience  had  put 
forth  but  a  feeble  sprout  ;  there  had  been 
nothing  very  encouraging  in  the  suffering  she 
had  seen  inflicted  and  endured  by  Sylvia,  and 
she  had  fallen  back  into  the  comfortable  belief 
that  things  were  best  as  they  were.  Endless 
complications  might  arise  were  she  to  under- 
take what  she  now  called  an  explanation. 
Much  as  she  loved  Yorke,  she  was  obliged  to 
confess  she  did  not  altogether  understand 
him ;  she  could  not  judge  how  he  would 
receive  it ;  he  had  odd  ideas  of  truth  and 
honor.  They  were  perfectly  happy  as  they 
were  ;  why  disturb  their  lives  by  a  revelation 
which  nothing  but  her  voluntary  act  could 
bring  about  ?  She  had  not  been  curious  about 
his  past  life — a  fact  upon  which  she  rather 
plumed  herself,  and  though  she  held  the  usual 
creed,  that  "  it  was  different  with  a  woman," 
yet  hers  was  such  an  innocent  secret !  That 
her  husband  might  not  receive  her  account 
with  implicit  faith;  might  suspect  weightier 
reasons  than  she  could  give  for  her  deception, 
was  another  argument  for  silence  in  a  matter 
to  which  she  believed  no  one  held  the  clew. 


282  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

The  only  person  in  her  old  life  sufficiently 
interested  in  her  affairs,  namely,  Mr.  Sandman, 
had  made  no  effort  to  trace  her  ;  no  one  else 
knew  enough  of  her  past  to  be  even  passively 
dangerous,  and  active  enemies — she  fancied 
she  had  none.  So  Jean  once  more  lulled  her- 
self into  fancied  security,  enjoying  her  hus- 
band's constant  loving  letters,  riding  and  walk- 
ing, content  and  at  ease,  in  the  company  of 
Loki  and  Bor ;  and  if  now  there  was  some- 
thing lacking  in  her  life  which  could  only 
be  supplied  by  one  presence,  dwelling  in  antici- 
pation on  the  delight  of  reunion. 

By  one  of  the  coincidences  upon  which 
critics  of  fiction  are  so  severe,  but  which  in  real 
life  are  constantly  recurrent,  Mr.  Sandman  had 
about  this  time  concluded  a  delightful  European 
holiday  by  the  pleasantest  autumn  voyage 
which  had  ever  fallen  to  his  lot.  Ship, 
weather  and  company  had  all  been  perfection, 
and  he  had  endeavored  to  repay  the  attentions 
of  an  especially  charming  widow  by  exerting 
all  his  powers  of  anecdote  and  reminiscence  for 
her  benefit.  It  was  scarcely  by  chance,  since  it 
was  the  uppermost  thought  in  Mrs.  Merriam's 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  283 

mind — that  the  name  of  Harding  \vas  men- 
tioned between  them  ;  but  it  was  marvelous 
good  luck  for  that  clever  little  lady,  that  he 
possessed  knowledge  which  enabled  her  to  com- 
plete and  verify  her  various  data,  while  appear- 
ing merely  to  be  interested  in  an  indifferent 
way  in  a  curious  case.  She  learned  enough  of 
Jane  Harding's  early  life,  of  her  mother's  death, 
of  the  years  spent  in  America  under  Mr.  Sand- 
man's eye,  to  settle  definitely — by  a  brief  com- 
parison  with  certain  chronological  notes  which 
Major  Limber  had  made  of  Grandison's  career, 
that  the  only  date  at  which  Jane  and  Eustace 
could  have  met,  namely,  in  1869,  was  such  as  to 
have  made  a  genuine  marriage  with  him  impos- 
sible or  disgraceful  on  account  of  his  extreme 
youth.  Which  of  the  two  Mrs.  Merriam  did  not 
greatly  care.  Even  the  little  incident  of  the 
maid  Annie's  abrupt  return  to  America,  leav- 
ing Jean  at  Folkestone,  which  Mr.  Sandman 
told  as  the  sequel  of  an  odd  affair  of  mysteri- 
ous disappearance,  came  to  Lyssa's  mind  with 
tremendous  significance.  And  not  to  leave  her 
work  in  any  way  incomplete,  Mrs.  Merriam  on 
another  day — Major  Limber  effacing  himself 


284  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

for  the  voyage — in  pursuing  a  far  different  vein 
of  talk,  got  out  of  the  reticent  lawyer  his  opin- 
ion that  a  woman  marrying  under  a  false  name, 
though  really  married,  was  in  a  precarious 
position,  since  "the  man  could  get  out  of  it  if 
he  wanted  to."  This  was  enough.  Lyssa  felt 
herself  strong  for  battle,  and  the  ship  arriving 
at  the  end  of  the  second  week  in  November,  it 
followed  that  the  night-boat,  which  took  Kooys- 
tra  back  to  Newport  after  his  sudden  trip  with 
Sylvia,  conveyed  also  Mrs.  Merriam  and  Major 
Limber,  prepared  to  open  their  campaign. 

One  brief  glance  of  recognition  passed  be- 
tween Kooystra  and  Limber,  involuntary  on 
Paul's  part,  but  followed  up  promptly  by  the 
Major,  who  approached  him  as  he  stood  in  the 
lee  of  the  smoke-stack  to  say,  in  a  tone  from 
which  he  could  scarcely  banish  his  exulta- 
tion: 

"  M.  Kooystra,  you  challenged  me  once  in 
a  certain  matter  to  produce  my  proofs.  Those 
proofs  I  now  hold,  and  I  assure  you  I  propose 
to  use  them  without  scruple  and  without 
mercy." 

Kooystra  looked   him  over  with  cool  inso- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  285 

lence,  and  made  no  reply ;  Limber,  who  was 
under  orders  to  be  peaceable,  having  said  his 
somewhat  indiscreet  say,  turned  on  his  heel  and 
left  him.  There  was  but  one  thing  to  which 
he  could  allude,  and  Kooystra  recalled  with 
vivid  distinctness  the  scene  at  Lady  Fenimore's, 
the  gossip,  the  esclandre,  Jean's  disappearance 
and  his  own  miserable  doubts.  His  love 
awoke,  armed  at  all  points  to  defend  her 
against  others,  vulnerable  only  to  the  thrust  of 
his  own  distrust,  the  keen  pang  of  feeling  that 
all  was  not  true  and  clear  as  crystal  about  Jean 
Yorke,  the  woman  for  whom,  unsuspected,  un- 
rewarded, unacknowledged,  he  was  wasting  and 
wrecking  his  life.  He  paced  the  deck  all  night, 
but  no  calmness  of  resolve  followed  the  tumult 
of  thought,  and  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  desper- 
ate daring  that  he  used  his  privelege  of  ami  de 
la  maison,  to  call  at  Manycotes  in  the  early 
morning  of  his  return,  and  warn  her  of  he 
knew  not  what. 

Jean  was  smiling,  content  and  happy;  she 
was  in  her  habit,  just  in  from  a  glorious  gallop 
along  the  hard,  wet  sands,  her  cheeks  flushed, 
her  eyes  glowing;  Yorke's  letter,  announcing 


286  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

his  return  on  the  next  day  but  one,  held  in 
caressing  fingers,  while  she  talked  gayly  and 
affectionately  to  Paul.  Sylvia  was  scarcely 
alluded  to ;  every  thing  disagreeable  was 
ignored ;  they  seemed  in  such  an  atmosphere 
of  peace  and  serenity  Kooystra  could  not 
bring  himself  to  believe  in  any  danger.  Lim- 
ber was  a  notorious  liar ;  it  must  have  been  a 
mere  blackmailing  threat ;  but  why  addressed 
to  him  ?  Why  warn  Jean,  and  of  what  ?"  Yet 
something  seemed  to  impel  him  to  try. 

"  Have  you  any  reason,"  he  said,  at  last, 
abruptly  yet  with  effort,  "  can  you — pardon 
me,  Mrs.  Yorke.  What  I  am  going  to  say  is 
so  odd,  you  will  think  me  impertinent  to  the 
last  degree.  But  have  you  any  reason  to  fear 
Major  Limber?" 

There  was  a  mere  instant's  silence,  while  a 
sickening  terror  contracted  Jean's  heart;  for 
just  a  breath's  space  she  wore  the  wild,  hunted 
look  of  the  Valkyr  picture,  and  before  she 
spoke  Kooystra  was  conscious  of  a  whim- 
sically irrelevant  pleasure  in  having  read  her 
aright.  "I  knew  she  could  look  it,"  flashed 
through  his  mind.  And  then  Jean  was  her- 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  287 

self    again,    lifting    untroubled    eyes    to    his, 
and  answering,  with  a  wondering  smile : 

"  I  ?  No.  I  scarcely  know  Major  Limber. 
What  could  I  possibly  have  to  fear  from 
him?" 


I 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

'•  Each  lip  must  learn  the  taste  of  truth." 

F  Kooystra,  on  quitting  Jean,  found  himself 
dismayed  and  unnerved,  it  was  far  other- 
wise with  Jean.  After  that  brief  instant  of 
panic,  in  which  her  secret  stirred  within  her 
like  some  living  thing,  and  a  terrible  possibility 
had  risen  up  to  confront  her,  self-possession, 
self-confidence  and  an  easy  incredulity  had 
come  back  to  her.  She  reviewed  the  situation 
quietly,  estimating  this  or  that  element  in  her 
favor  or  to  her  detriment  at  its  full  worth. 
She  recalled  Major  Limber's  conduct  upon 
every  occasion  when  he  had  crossed  her  path, 
and  while  she  acknowledged  him  as  venomous 
as  any  serpent,  she  fancied,  from  her  belief  as 
to  his  habits  and  aims,  that  his  poison  was 
innocuous,  his  fangs  readily  drawn.  "  Proofs, 
he  can  have  none,"  she  thought,  "  and  what- 
ever he  may  suspect,  and  choose  to  assert,  the 
word  of  a  man  of  his  standing  will  weigh  but 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  289 

little  against  mine.  Mrs.  Keppel  Yorke  can 
afford  to  ignore  the  insinuations  of  a  Major 
Limber." 

And  so,  while  Kooystra  sat,  puzzled  and 
disheartened,  his  doubts  half  confirmed,  search- 
ing the  face  in  .the-portrait  for  the  secret  the 
face  of  flesh  had  so  nearly  revealed,  Jean 
was  making  a  careful  toilette,  promising  her- 
self a  pleasant  afternoon  over  a  new  novel, 
and  dwelling  now  and  then  on  the  thought  of 
her  husband's  return  on  the  morrow  as  the 
rose-leaf  on  her  brimming  cup  of  happiness. 
It  was  with  complete  cheerfulness  that  at  four 
o'clock,  the  lamps  having  been  lit  and  the  fire 
replenished,  Jean,  seated  in  the  cheery  glow, 
received  the  card  of  a  visitor  whose  vehicle 
had  just  drawn  up  under  the  carriage-porch  in 
the  dusk. 

"  Mrs.  Merriam,"  she  read.  "  I  don't  know 
any  Mrs.  Merriam.  One  of  the  inhabitants,  I 
suppose,  come  about  a  subscription.  I  will 
come,  Grant,"  she  concluded.  "  Or  stay,"  she 
added,  glancing  around  her  with  a  sudden 
sense  of  bien-etre  in  her  surroundings,  "show 
the  lady  in  here,  and  bring  tea," 


2 90  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

Mrs.  Merriam  and  the  tea  made  an  almost 
simultaneous  appearance,  for  these  details  were 
well-ordered  at  Manycotes.  The  lady  was 
well  dressed ;  beside  the  laces  and  frills  and 
jewels  of  Jean's  rather  elaborate  dinner-dress, 
she  was  ostentatiously  simple  ;  yet  Jean,  as  she 
poured  out  the  tea  and  uttered  such  common- 
places as  she  could  conjure  up  to  address  to  a 
stranger,  thought  to  herself  "  she  is  not  des 
notres." 

Mrs.  Merriam,  on  her  part,  looked  at  Jean 
attentively,  estimating  her  force  of  character, 
conjecturing  her  possible  conduct.  She  had  a 
private  purpose  to  serve,  a  private  grudge  to 
gratify,  of  which  Major  Limber  knew  nothing 
— a  weapon  too  keen  of  edge  to  be  trusted  in 
his  clumsy  hands. 

"  I  shall  not  detain  you  very  long,  Mrs. 

Ah — Mrs.  Yorke,"  began  Lyssa  ;  "you  know 
my  friend  Major  Limber,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  that  honor,"  said  Jean  frigidly, 
and  instantly  upon  her  guard. 

"  No  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Merriam.  "  Major  Limber 
knows  you,  however,  and  remembers  you  very 
well.  You  have  given  him  excellent  cause,  on 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  291 

several  occasions,  to  remember  you,  and  he  has 
a  very  clear  idea  of  your  identity." 

The  faintest  perceptible  stress  was  laid  upon 
this  last  word,  but  if  it  had  any  effect  upon 
Jean,  the  flicker  of  the  fire  and  the  flattering 
light  of  the  lamps  concealed  it. 

"Yes,"  went  on  Lyssa,  in  her  soft  throaty 
voice,  "  Major  Limber  knows  you  very  well. 
He  remembers,  what  you  may  have  forgotten, 
crossing  the  ocean  with  you  in  the  steamer 
Servia  in  1880,  when  you  were  still  Miss 
Harding.  He  knows  that  in  July  of  the  same 
year  you  lodged  at  Mrs.  Steele's,  21  Marine 
Parade,  Dover — still  under  the  name  of  Miss 
Harding.  He  knows  that  on  the  same  day  on 
which  you  left  Dover,  you  registered  at  an 
hotel  in  Calais,  in  the  name  of  a  man  who  had 
been  dead  a  year.  He  knows  that  in  August, 
1880,  you  were  at  the  hotel  Louis-le-Grand  in 
Paris,  where  he  found  this"  and  she  unfolded 
the  worn  bit  of  paper  on  which  Jean  recognized 
her  own  experimental  signatures.  "  He  knows 
that  only  in  1881  were  the  houses  bought  which 
you  represented  as  a  legacy  from  the  man 
whose  name  you  took,  and  to  whose  family 


292  THE    WHOLE   TRUTH. 

you  are  unknown.  He  knows,  in  short,  a  very 
great  deal  which  your  husband — if  Colonel 
Yorke  is  your  husband,  you  having  married  him 
under  a  false  name — does  not  know,  but  which 
he  would,  no  doubt,  learn  with  much  interest." 

The  length  of  this  carefully  prepared  speech, 
which  Jean  had  forborne  to  interrupt,  had 
given  her  time  to  collect  herself.  Her  courage, 
which  before  the  phantom  foes  of  her  own 
brain  had  so  often  betrayed  her,  was  cool  and 
ready  in  the  presence  of  a  flesh-and-blood 
accuser. 

"  My  good  woman,"  she  said,  choosing  in- 
stinctively the  tone  most  calculated  to  gall  and 
exasperate.  "  Suppose  Major  Limber  does 
know  all  these  things — which  I  do  not  doubt, 
since  you  tell  me  so — why  should  you  proclaim 
it  in  so  threatening  a  tone?  Even  if  Major 
Limber  knew  every  detail  of  my  first  marriage, 
I  fail  to  see  what  interest  his  relation  of  the 
facts  could  have  for  my  husband,  Colonel 
Yorke,  save  that  of  a  twice-told  tale." 

It  was  a  bold  stroke,  and  for  a  second  Lyssa 
Merriam  sat  dazed  with  the  possibility  of  a 
secret  marriage  having  really  taken  place  and 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  293 

been  confessed  to  Colonel  Yorke.  Without 
Mr.  Sandman's  information,  this  might  have 
influenced  her ;  but  as  it  was,  she  cast  one 
swift  backward  glance  over  her  array  of  dates 
and  circumstances  and  slowly  shook  her  pretty 
head. 

"  Suppose  there  had  been  a  secret  marriage, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Yorke,"  she  said  calmly,  "  which 
you  and  I  know  there  was  not — even  that  is  a 
thing  which  can  not  be  done  without  a  certain 
shadow  of — well,  blame,  falling  upon  the  woman, 
especially  when  the  woman  is  much  older  than 
the  man.  With  men  it  is  different.  Their 
future  is  unaffected  by  the  youthful  follies  of 
their  past — they  are  said  to  have  'behaved 
badly '  to  such  and  such  a  woman — but  some 
other  woman  likes  and  marries  them  all  the 
same.  And  that  is  why  I  have  come  to  you 
with  my  knowledge  of  your  secret.  A  man's 
secret,  unless  it  is  a  criminal  one,  is  of  little 
value,  and  the  letters  I  have  here,  which  con- 
tain the  history  of  my  brief  engagement  to 
Colonel  Yorke,  are  worth  little  more  than  the 
paper  upon  which  they  are  written,  whereas 
this  other  half  sheet  of  paper " 


294  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

A  sparkle  of  malevolence  came  into  Lyssa's 
eyes ;  now  for  the  first  time  she  saw  a  treacher- 
ous whiteness  invade  Jean's  cheek. 

"With  you  it  is  different,"  she  went  on 
quickly;  "  whether  you  made  a  secret  marriage, 
or  whether,  which  is  most  likely,  you  have  never 
been  married  at  all,  is  of  little  practical  conse- 
quence. The  only  question  is,  what  are  you 
willing  to  do  to  insure  silence  on  my  part, 
and  on  Major  Limber's." 

Lyssa  rose,  all  her  jetted  garments  tinkling 
and  flashing  in  the  firelight.  "  I  do  not  wish  to 
press  you,  Mrs.  Yorke,  there  is  plenty  of  time 
to  decide.  I  shall  take  no  steps  for  a  few 
days  and  in  the  meantime  we  shall,  I  am  sure, 
be  very  good  friends.  I  shall  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  seeing  you  to-morrow." 

Mechanically  Jean  put  out  her  hand  to  the 
bell  which  summoned  a  servant  to  open  Mrs. 
Merriam's  carriage  door;  mechanically  went  to 
her  dinner-table  and  observed  its  forms ;  like 
an  automaton  returned  to  the  library  and  sank 
into  her  lounging  chair  with  her  novel  open  in 
her  hand.  Silent,  motionless,  absorbed,  she 
sat,  the  hours  going  by  with  the  swiftness  lent 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  295 

them  by  a  chiming  clock  with  musical  quarters. 
The  fire  put  out  little  mocking  tongues  of 
flame  at  her  which  seemed  to  sear  her  brain  ; 
no,  her  brain  itself  seemed  all  aflame — thought 
was  impossible  to  her — every  faculty  seemed 
merged  in  the  over-mastering  desire  for  air. 
She  flung  the  window  wide,  rang  violently,  and 
said  to  the  sedate  man-servant  who  met  her  as 
she  rushed  past  him  on  the  stairs: 
"Tell  them  to  saddle  Loki." 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

"  He  that  trusts  in  a  lie  shall  perish  in  the  truth." 

THE  night  was  windless  and  overcast; 
there  was  a  moon,  and  so  the  air  was 
full  of  a  strange  gray  light,  in  spite  of  the 
dark  cloud-rack  which  hurried  onward  on 
some  fierce  blast  far  up  the  sky  ;  and  beside 
the  soft,  velvety  lapping  of  the  black  water  on 
the  rocks  below  the  cliff,  the  hoarse  distant 
murmur  of  the  groundswell  came  faintly  to  an 
attentive  ear. 

Jean  paused  as  she  came  down  the  stairway, 
turning  back  for  some  small  object  which  she 
slipped  into  her  bosom,  then  passed  quietly 
out  to  where  Loki  stood,  gleaming  ghost-like 
under  the  dark  carriage  porch,  with  Bor  at  her 
stirrup. 

Long  indifference  to  the  opinion  of  her  serv- 
ants had  taught  them  at  least  outward  indif- 
ference too,  and  it  was  with  an  unmoved  face 
that  Girth,  at  ten  o'clock  of  a  November 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  297 

night,  adjusted  his  mistress'  stirrup,  laid  care- 
ful feeling  fingers  on  Loki's  bit  and  headstall, 
and  asked  in  his  usual  tone  : 

"  Shall  you  require  me,  madam  ?  " 
It  was  with  a  feeling  of  sincere  relief  that 
he  received  her  brief  negative  and  led  his 
saddled  horse  back  to  the  stables,  while  Loki, 
with  two  tremendous  bounds,  fled  whitely  out 
of  the  gate  and  away. 

Now,  with  the  still  air,  fanned  into  move- 
ment by  her  speed,  rushing  by  her  cheek, 
Jean's  brain  awoke  ;  now  she  began  to  think  ; 
now  a  wild  terror  possessed  her,  from  which, 
gallop  as  she  might,  there  was  no  escape. 
While  she  had  fancied  her  secret  her  own,  to 
tell  or  to  keep,  she  had  been  able  to  control 
herself,  to  reason  herself  into  deceitful  calm — 
even  to  contemplate  the  revealing  of  it  as  a 
commonplace,  and  more  or  less  probable  thing. 
While  Lyssa  faced  her,  a  palpable  foe,  she  had 
been  able  to  hold  her  own  ;  but  now,  alone, 
and  in  the  night,  her  strange,  unbalanced 
nature  betrayed  her.  Every  threat,  every 
thought  of  harm,  every  wildest  imagining  of 
evil  to  come,  took  shape,  and  rose  up  clamor- 


298  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

ing  before  her.  She  saw  herself  despised  by 
the  man  she  loved  when  once  he  shotild  learn 
the  extent  of  the  deceit  she  had  practiced 
upon  him.  Could  Yorke,  frank  and  loyal,  ever 
forgive,  not  the  mere  concealment  toward 
himself,  but  the  whole  hateful  scheme,  the  lie 
she  had  lived,  the  false  seeming  to  which  she 
had  lent  herself  so  gratuitously?  Jean's  one 
moment  of  weakness,  could  Lyssa  have  known 
it,  was  due,  not  to  the  mere  fact  of  Yorke's 
engagement,  the  history  of  which  she  had 
long  known,  but  to  the  sudden  knowledge 
that  Lyssa  had  been  the  heroine  of  his  early 
dreams. 

Could  Sylvia,  whose  tender  conscience  had 
so  suffered  over  a  slight  concealment,  could 
she  help  but  scorn  the  woman  who  had 
imposed  upon  her  from  the  first  ? 

Kooystra,  Forbes,  Mrs.  Wyndham — all  the 
people  whose  respect  and  affection  she  valued, 
pale,  scornful  faces  of  them  all,  rose  up  before 
her  on  the  night,  and  she  uttered  low,  choking 
cries  as  she  rode. 

But  all  this  was  as  nothing  to  the  thought 
of  Yorke,  not  estranged,  but  undeceived) 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  299 

enlightened  ;  finding,  in  place  of  the  woman 
he  had  counted  his  soul's  mate,  a  mere  hol- 
low simulacrum  of  a  woman,  false,  perjured, 
untrue,  not  even,  perhaps,  his  wife.  And  the 
doubt  which  Lyssa,  well  knowing  its  falsity, 
had  so  cleverly  and  boldly  insinuated,  now 
added  its  small  pipe  to  all  the  other  fiendish 
voices  which  were  shrieking  their  maddening 
suggestions  in  her  ears.  For  Jean,  in  her 
Sintram  moods,  there  was  no  saintly  exorcism 
ready.  In  this,  her  extremity,  she  had  no 
sanctuary,  no  hope,  no  help,  to  which  to  turn. 
That  saddest  negation  of  all  faith,  the  indif- 
ferentism  which  goes  to  church — occasionally 
— because  other  people  do;  which  has  many 
pleasant  thoughts,  wholly  unconnected  with 
worship,  to  fill  up  contentedly  the  two  hours 
vouchsafed  to  custom ;  which  criticises  the 
singing  and  the  dresses ;  and  which  looks  for, 
nor  comprehends,  no  deeper  meaning,  no  real 
thing  under  the  outward  show,  was  all  Jean 
had  of  religion.  No  "  honest  doubt "  had  per-' 
plexed  her,  for  she  had  simply  not  thought  at 
all  upon  the  subject ;  and  now,  at  the  sharpest 
strait  of  her  life,  she  only  realized  what  it  is  to 


3°°  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

be  without  God  in  the  world,  by  the  awful  void 
and  immensity  of  formless  horror  into  which 
she  looked,  seeking  vainly  a  way  of  escape. 
Could  she  have  believed  in  aught  or  naught, 
had  she  had  firm  conviction  even  of  the  "  first 
dark  day  of  nothingness "  which  some  can 
persuade  themselves  lies  the  other  side  of 
death's  silences ;  had  not  doubts  and  fears 
risen  thick  and  grisly  along  that  path  when  it 
opened  before  her,  Jean's  struggle  might  have 
been  sooner  over.  All  the  devils  in  hell  were 
with  her,  she  thought,  in  that  mad  ride ;  led, 
as  it  seemed  to  her,  by  one  more  horrible  than 
the  rest,  who  whispered  over  and  over  and 
over,  "Tell  the  truth."  And  Jean,  who  had 
not  learned  that  it  is  not  devils  alone  who 
come  in  various  disguise,  fled  from  this  dark- 
visaged  angel,  whose  pleadings  might  have 
saved  her  even  now,  as  she  might  from  the 
most  hideous  and  devilish  of  the  crew. 

The  night  was  waning.  Loki,  ridden  be- 
yond even  her  glorious  strength,  stumbled 
now,  and  clambered  wearily  up  dark  hillsides 
among  the  stones;  the  wind  moaned,  but  not 
among  trees,  and  the  surf  was  running  mad 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  301 

riot  on  the  rocks.  What  subtle  taint  of  mad- 
ness lurked  in  Jean's  blood  had  done  its  work ; 
the  mind  which  had  made  the  worst  of  every 
thing  now  faced  what  seemed  irremediable; 
the  will  which  had  so  often  turned  from  the 
direct  way,  chose  once  more.  Jean's  hand 
sought  something  in  her  bosom,  carried  some 
tiny  thing  to  her  lips;  she  swayed  once  or 
twice  in  her  saddle  ere  she  fell,  and  wearied 
Loki,  turning,  touched  her  cheeks  with  gentle 
sniffs  of  inquiry,  as  she  lay  silent,  and  stood 
over  her,  motionless  as  she.  ' 

It  was  Kooystra  who  at  last  found  her,  far 
on  in  the  day,  as  he  rode  wildly  along  a  rough 
road  between  bare  stony  fields,  high  and  deso- 
late spaces,  swept  by  winds  that  blew  from 
bay  and  ocean.  A  long  howl  and  a  distant 
neigh  which  his  horse  answered  attracted 
his  attention ;  Loki's  stable-companion  went 
lightly  over  the  walls,  crying  upon  her  as  he 
leaped ;  and  so  Kooystra  found  Jean,  the  rein 
still  clasped  in  her  stiffened  hand,  gentle  Loki 
standing  patiently  over  her  and  Bor  crouched 
moaning  at  her  side.  Something  glittering 


THE    WHOLE   TRUTH. 


and  very  small,  lay  where  it  had  fallen  from 
her  hand,  and  this  Kooystra,  recognizing  as 
the  box  he  had  given  her,  took  up  silently 
and  hid. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"  Tarry  a  little,  there  is  something  more." 

ALWAYS  something  more.  Lives  end, 
with  which  the  light  of  other  lives  goes 
out.  Lives  end,  which  to  the  souls  which  once 
informed  them,  seemed  endlessly  full  of  power 
to  do  and  to  achieve.  Lives  end,  which  it  is 
said,  the  whole  world  misses  and  mourns.  And 
yet  there  remains  a  whole  world  full  of  people, 
of  whom  many  stories  may  be  told. 

And  so  poor  Jean,  having  learned  the  beauty 
and  value  of  truth  only  at  the  last,  left  lives 
behind  her  to  live  themselves  out :  each  after 
their  own  fashion  and  meaning.  A  certain 
pair  of  schemers,  whose  subtilty  had  somewhat 
overreached  itself,  now  bitterly  regretted  not 
naming  their  price,  which  would  have  seemed 
so  little  to  Jean  ;  instead  of  uttering  vague 
threats  which  had  driven  her  to  her  death. 
And  it  was  not  in  malevolence,  but  simply  "  in 
justice  to  themselves,"  that  they  now  informed 


304  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH. 

Colonel  Yorke  "  while  he  still  cared  enough 
about  her,"  as  Lyssa  said,  to  wish  to  protect  her 
memory,  of  certain  facts  in  their  possession,  for 
silence  as  to  which,  he  was  willing  to  make 
them  a  generous  gift. 

Before  they  went  Kooystra  heard  from 
Major  Limber's  lips  that  which  added  one 
pang  more  to  his  abiding  sorrow  ;  namely,  that 
his  picture  had  given  them  the  clew  to  Jean's 
identity.  To  this,  and  to  the  thought  that 
from  his  hand,  however  innocently,  had  come 
the  means  of  ending  Jean's  life,  was  due  a 
brooding  melancholy,  a  useless,  purposeless 
life ;  and  except  that  we  are  told  on  the  best 
authority,  that  "  men  h  ave  died  and  worm's 
have  eaten  them,  but  not  for  love"  we  migjit 
reasonably  attribute  to  that  cause  this  wasted 
life  and  early  death. 

Ian  Forbes,  perhaps,  was  made  of  sterner 
stuff;  something  more  elastic  composed  the 
organ  he  called  "heart,"  which  presently  be. 
gan  to  beat  again,  rebounding,  rubber-like,  at 
the  behest  of  a  pretty  and  tolerably  young  girl, 
curiously  expert  in  adapting  herse  If  to  her  sur 
roundings,  and  who  presently  surrendered  the 


THE    WHOLE    TRUTH.  305 

name  and  style  of   Miss  Sadie   Randolph  for 
that  of  the  artist's  wife,  Mrs.  Ian  Forbes. 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  Sylvia,  who  had  car- 
ried lan's  somewhat  demonstrative  suffering 
on  her  tender  conscience  longer  than  needful, 
and  who,  happy  and  successful  in  her  art,  was 
grown  graver  and  even  sweeter  than  of  old. 

One  day,  several  years  having  gone  by,  Kep- 
pel  Yorke,  taking  courage  to  look  over  some  of 
Jean's  papers,  found  in  an  envelope,  dated  No- 
vember 1 5th,  1883,  and  addressed  to  himself, 
that  last  letter  she  had  received  from  Sylvia. 

It  revealed  many  things  to  him.  The  iden- 
tity of  the  woman  for  whom  Jean  had  wished 
to  sacrifice  herself;  the  best  of  Jean's  strange, 
wild,  perverted  nature ;  a  certain  hidden  cor- 
ner of  his  heart  in  which,  half-suspected,  Sylvia 
had  always  nestled ;  and,  after  much  hesitation 
and  many  misgivings,  a  way  to  the  pleasant 
lingering  place  where  he  might  yet  find  love, 
content,  peace.  But,  as  the  whole  truth  is 
seldom  known  to  any  one  mortal,  it  could  not 
tell  him  the  real  story  of  the  woman  who  had 
so  erred,  groping  blindly,  without  guide, 
among  the  perplexities  of  this  life. 
THE  END. 


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